


all there is to gain in life

by Haywarde



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Mostly shenanigans, Some Comic Canon, some MCU canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2020-10-14 07:10:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20596787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haywarde/pseuds/Haywarde
Summary: They have seven years together. That's more than most people get.





	1. 2012 (Natasha)

**Author's Note:**

> Depictions of canon-typical violence for this chapter. Also, apology to any scientists reading this. Comic-logic doesn't need to make sense. It needs to be COOL.
> 
> And comic book fans - I tried my best. I really did. I make minimum wage at Denny's. I don't have time to cross reference everything

**2012**

It begins like most friendships do. With coffee.

Natasha’s first assignment outside of STRIKE Team: Delta is a surveillance mission with Commander Maria Hill. She doesn’t pretend to understand Fury’s logic behind it. She’s an assassin, the absolute last resort. An expert in deep cover and counter-terrorism. Why he assigned her to stake out a diner with the soon-to-be deputy director of SHIELD, she hasn’t a clue.

Maria doesn’t seem to understand it either. She sips her coffee, looking over the value menu in silence. Her eyes linger on the french toast before snapping away, like she doesn’t want Natasha to know she has a sweet tooth. They haven’t spoken since they sat down and Natasha suspects Maria is content to keep it that way. The few times they’ve met on the helicarrier, their conversations have been militant and no-nonsense. Maria doesn’t trust her and Natasha respects that. Fury wouldn’t have chosen her as his second-in-command if she wasn’t smart.

But Natasha can’t sit here for hours without talking. It’s poor cover. Also, making friends with the deputy director isn’t a bad idea. That’s how Natasha views friendships, as future investments. Clint is her only real human connection and she’s fine with that but a partnership with Maria would be beneficial.

Clint would hate her for thinking so clinically. He says she needs someone besides Laura and him. A support system for when they’re out of touch like they are now. He’s somewhere in Germany with Coulson. Munich, she thinks. It doesn’t matter. She’s fine by herself. Really.

“Why are we here again?” Natasha knows why they’re here. A New York businessman looking to break into the arms trade. He’s meeting his contact here, a man named Solohob. Natasha will hunt him down after the met, following him back to Russia to flush out the rest of the weapons ring. She knows all this but Maria only seems to respond to questions.

To her credit, she sees right through Natasha. She snaps her menu shut and shoves it to the side, apparently deciding not to get anything. “You were there for the briefing, Romanoff. You know why we’re here.”

“Yes, but why us. A pair of cadets could run this op.”

“Fury’s motives don’t always make sense. I don’t pretend to understand them.”

Natasha has the sudden, childish urge to stick out her tongue. She never gets along with military types. They’re too stiff and Natasha can’t toy with them like she can the billionaires and play boys. Instead, she wads up her straw wrapper and flicks it at Maria. It hits her cheek.

Maria frowns. “What was the for?”

“Because you’re being a bad spy. Relax. You look like you’d rather put a bullet in your mouth than be here.”

For a moment, Maria looks like she’s about to reach for the gun that’s surely hidden underneath her jacket but just sighs and relaxes her shoulders. Suddenly, she’s less an agent waiting for an ambush and more a tired woman struggling to put the work week behind her and enjoy a date. Natasha can work with that.

She reaches across the table and takes Maria’s hand. She flinches, tries to pull away but stops herself. Natasha squeezes her hand. All for the sake of their cover, she figures.

“How long has it been since you were in the field?”

Maria shrugs. “Level seven, maybe? Even then I mainly just did extractions. I was never great at being undercover.”

Natasha can see that. Maria is a leader. Toiling in obscurity isn’t her strength. She needs a team to look after and make sure every moving piece is working as it should. Natasha admires that. She hates groups, feels so out of place with them. It’s because spiders are predators. They work alone.

Natasha wouldn’t mind having Maria organize her missions some time in the future when there’s actual trust between them. (If there ever is.) She’d be good at it, would probably turn in their paperwork on time and make sure their missions weren’t tiptoeing on the jurisdiction of other agencies. Actually, she’d like that a lot. Clint would too.

In that moment, Natasha decides to win Maria’s trust for purely personal gain. If she accidentally ends up with a friend down the line, so be it.

She ignores the suspiciously Clint-like voice telling her that it’s genuine friendship she’s hoping for and not a business deal.

The waitress, a fresh-faced teenager struggling with the responsibility of her first real job appears to take their order. Maria says she’s fine with just coffee like Natasha thought she would. Natasha cuts her off.

“Ignore her,” she tells the waitress with a smile. “It’s our first real date and I think she’s nervous about appearing human and actually eating. We’ll both have french toast.”

The waitress takes their menus and says their food will be out shortly. Maria glares at Natasha as soon as the waitress is out of sight.

“A date, Romanoff?”

“Well, we are holding hands.” She lifts up their joined hands as proof. Maria’s scowl deepens but doesn’t let go.

“I was only maintaining our cover,” Natasha continues. “This is my area of expertise. Trust me.”

Maria rolls her eyes. “I trust you about as far as I can throw you, Romanoff.”

She picks up her coffee with her left hand and takes another sip. Natasha adds ambidextrous to the growing list of things she’s learning about Maria Hill, right under sweet tooth and caffeine addict. She’s already eyeing Natasha’s untouched coffee.

Natasha pushes the mug closer to her. “Go ahead. I’m picky about my coffee, anyway.”

“How so? Don’t tell me you’re the type who can only drink Frappuccinos.”

Natasha shrugs. “Fine, I won’t then.”

“Goddamnit,” Maria says and rescues the coffee from her. “I had my hopes for you, Romanoff. Even Fury takes his coffee with sugar. It’s a travesty.”

“I can drink it black, I just choose not to. After months of deep cover with only the instant crap they keep SHIELD safe houses stocked with and you would indulge in a Frappuccino.” She plucks a sugar packet from the little caddy at the end of the table. “If Solohob ever shows, that’s what I have to look forward to.”

Maria looks at her thoughtfully before letting go of her hand and reaching for the sugar. “It’s not Starbucks but I won’t shoot you for sweetening your coffee just this once.”

“You flatter me, Commander. How could any woman resist you.”

She’s not used to talking without a mask, some kind of pretext so she resorts to flirting. It’s a hazard of the job or more accurately, a reflex ingrained into her by the Red Room. Some ghosts can’t be exorcised no matter how hard you repent. They haunt you until you can no longer distinguish between yourself and them.

Maria doesn’t seem to mind, however. Either that or the act of ruining a cup of coffee is causing her real, physical pain. She tears open the packet and dumps the sugar in without stirring it.

“There, you heathen. Have your grainy coffee.”

Natasha takes the coffee with a smile. It is grainy but also sweet and that’s all that matters to her.

Maria grumbles something into her mug. It’s definitely an insult but for as many languages Natasha is fluent in, she can’t understand Maria’s muffled griping which might actually be a good thing. Natasha has thick skin but this is surprisingly personal to Maria. She lets it go.

Their food arrives shortly after. Maria takes little bites, too focused on the door behind them to really enjoy the french toast. Natasha doesn’t bother with keeping watch and devours hers. She heaps on butter, syrup and jam. The food in Russia will be crap so she’s damn well sure going to enjoy this.

Maria ignores her savagery for the most part until she dips a bite of french toast in coffee because hey, she’s going back to the country that turned her into a weapon, she might as well. It’s not bad. Certainly not worth the face Maria is making.

“I’m worse with ice cream,” Natasha says. “Sometimes I’ll add peanut butter or marshmallow fluff and eat it straight from the container.”

“That sounds horrifying.”

Natasha takes another bite of coffee-jam-syrup french toast. “Buy me a Frappuccino and we can make a date of it. Just you, me and tub of Ben and Jerry’s.”

Maria doesn’t answer. The chime above the door jingles and Natasha knows without turning around that it’s Solohob. Maria’s face remains neutral but they don’t know what kind of training Solohob has. He might spook on instinct. It’s happened before, a mark somehow sensing the presence of another spy. If he does, they’ll lose their chance to eliminate the ring entirely. They’ll get Solohob but his compatriots will be free to fund the next act of terrorism.

Natasha makes a judgement call. She grabs Maria by the collar of her jacket and pulls her across the table for a kiss.

Natasha keeps the kiss chaste and close-mouthed. Just a peck, really. Maria doesn’t kiss back but she doesn’t pull away, either. Her hands come to rest against Natasha’s forearms. Natasha feels Solohob move right past them.

When they part, Maria’s eyes are still closed. Natasha smiles in spite of their situation and kisses her cheek for good measure.

“Seriously think on my offer, okay? This was fun and I’d love to do it again.”

Maria’s face remains impassive when she finally opens her eyes. Bored, even. Natasha shouldn’t find that kind of control attractive - she definitely shouldn’t be thinking about that control in more interesting scenarios.

“I’ll think about,” Maria promise. “Now, go knock ‘em dead. Literally.”

Halfway across the world, Clint must be feeling incredibly smug. Natasha just knows it.

* * *

The next time they see each other is on the helicarrier flight deck. Maria’s now deputy director and Natasha’s been in Russia since January but there’s no time to catch up. Loki has hijacked Clint’s brain and stolen the Tesseract, creating an Avengers-sized disaster.

Maria gives her a nod but her attention is on the bridge. Fury then asks her to show Banner to his lab and that’s the last she sees of her for three weeks.

But Maria doesn’t forget about her, much to Natasha’s surprise. While waiting for Clint to recover in the medbay, she sends a cadet with coffee.

“Courtesy of the Commander,” says the cadet. “She also wanted me to tell you that no, she hasn’t forgotten. You just came at a really busy time.”

The cadet makes SHIELD sound like a department store during the holiday season, like Natasha should have known better than to schedule a date with the busy manager. She laughs and takes the coffee. It’s sweetened but not with sugar.

“Creamer,” the cadet says when she makes a face. “Commander Hill threatened to shoot me if I used sugar.”

“But creamer is okay? Our deputy director has strange standards.”

The taste is similar to a Frappuccino. Sweeter, like cream but still close. Natasha wonders if Maria made the choice on purpose.

She later shares the theory with Laura. Fury gave her two weeks off after the Battle of New York and she spends the time on the Barton Homestead, the only place she feels safe enough to relax.

They’re sitting on the porch, drinking vodka lemonade - a compromise between Laura’s good Midwestern values and Natasha’s week from hell. Her accelerated metabolism prevents inebriation but she’s still Russian and has definitely earned a drink after saving the world.

“Oh, Nat, she had to,” Laura says. She’s on her second lemonade and more than a little tipsy. A dangerous situation. Natasha knows she’s heading for an interrogation.

Laura sets down her glass and pats Natasha’s knee. She takes a deep breath, reminds herself that she single handedly beat the shit out of Georgi Luchkov and his cronies. She can handle Laura prying into her nonexistent love life.

“Do you like her?”

SHIELD really should hire Laura as an interrogator. She goes straight for the jugular. Hell, she probably could’ve broken Loki. Maybe Fury will let her have the next alien that tries to take over earth.

“Love is for children,” Natasha says. It’s a safe answer, one she actually believes on some level. Most of the stuff she says is meaningless posturing, an attempt to shore up her defenses and keep people at a safe distance. Love, however, is the one thing the Red Room ruined for her.

She doesn’t love Maria. She barely even knows her.

But Laura doesn’t buy it. She squeezes Natasha’s knee like she can physically pry the truth from her. Maybe she can.

“I didn’t ask about love. I asked if you liked her.”

Fine. Natasha can deal with like. Whatever the word means because it’s frustratingly vague like most American concepts.

“I kissed her before I left for Russia,” she admits. “I was just maintaining our cover but it was nice.”

Natasha has kissed a lot of people. It’s nothing special to her. The Red Room took that away too by making her body a weapon of seduction and violence. It’s never been her own. She doesn’t know what to with it outside of missions, can’t tell if what she feels for Maria is genuine or just her training treating her like a mark. It scares her.

“Would you like to do it again?”

When Natasha doesn’t answer, Laura pours her more vodka lemonade. She drains the glass. The alcohol won’t help but she can stall for time.

Laura waits. She’s infuriatingly patient with Natasha’s attempts to avoid the question. Motherhood prepared her better than SHIELD training ever did Natasha. She gives in.

“When we were sitting in the diner, I just wanted to be her friend. To have someone to lean on besides you and Clint. I’m starting to realize I need that so it’s not just her. If we continue the Avengers Initiative, I’ll have to let the others in on some level as well.”

“But Maria is the only one you want to kiss.”

Natasha nods and Laura pulls her into a hug. She smells like fresh laundry and smoke from the cooking fire. They had s’mores after dinner. Cooper made hers. He burned the marshmallow but it was still the sweetest thing Natasha had ever tasted.

“Oh, honey,” Laura whispers against her hair. “You’ve got it bad and you don’t even know it.”

She feels like should cry but can’t. She’s never cried anything but crocodile tears, doesn’t know if it’s even possible. Her sisters in the Red Room once gossiped about how the doctors would remove her tear ducts at Graduation. They didn’t. The program had done that without surgery.

Her fingers curl against the fabric of Laura’s skirt and Laura rocks her from side to side like she does when Lila has a nightmare. She closes her eyes and listens to the birds sing their last song before nightfall. If she can’t cry, she can at least try and find some peace.

“Do you have your phone?” Laura asks after a while.

“I do. Why?”

Laura sits back and tucks Natasha’s hair behind her ear. “It doesn’t all have to make sense right now but if you like her, text her. Ask her out for drinks or whatever. If the feeling’s mutual, you can move on from there.”

“You’re remarkably calm about this.”

“It’s dating, not saving the world. About the only thing I know how to do that you spies can’t.”

She pulls Natasha to her feet then ushers her inside the house. “Go. Ask this super hot agent who you want to smash your face against to drinks. And then immediately tell me when she texts back.”

She opens the door. A lego city has been constructed in the foyer since they’ve been on the porch. Natasha almost takes out the clock tower Lila and Clint are building together as Laura practically shoves her through the doorway.

“Auntie Nat, watch out!”

She avoids the construction with an improvised jeté, saving both her feet and Lila’s tower. Clint whoops and claps.

“Nice moves, Tasha!”

“Don’t distract her,” Laura says. “She’s a woman on a mission.”

“Maria Hill?” Clint calls after her as she bounds up the stairs because of course he knows. She hasn’t said anything to him but he’s still figured it out.

At the top of the stairs, Natasha hears Laura demand to know everything about Maria from what she looks likes to would she ever visit the farm. Clint’s response is too low for Natasha to understand. He knows she’s eavesdropping. He knows everything, apparently.

Her phone is in the spare bedroom, at the bottom of her bag which is hidden in the closet. She even took out the battery as a precaution because SHIELD has a habit of cutting vacations short if you’re easily reached.

As Natasha finds and reassembles her phone, she wonders what she can say to Maria that aren’t things she’d tell a mark. Laura would say to be herself but she doesn’t have a self to be. Only masks, personas. Nothing real.

She doesn’t know how to do this, to be real.

Her phone buzzes. The company’s logo fills the screen as her only link to the outside world restarts. The truth, she decides, that’s what she’ll say. It’s all she has. She finds HILL, MARIA in her contacts and begins typing.

_Coffee next week? - R_

Natasha flops on the bed and wraps herself in the chunky knitted blanket Laura gave her last Christmas. It’s the ugliest thing Natasha has ever seen and she loves it. A minute passes. Maybe she was too forward. Maria isn’t Tony Stark. She might like a little preamble or even a phone call. This is the first time they’ve ever spoken outside of work.

She’s about to take out the battery again or just throw the phone out the window when it pings.

_Romanoff?_

Natasha isn’t nervous. She kicked alien ass just last week. This is nothing compared to saving the world.

Do you have many other standing coffee dates?

Maria’s response is instantaneous.

_No. Just you._

_Well then :)_

_I didn’t think I’d hear from you. You’re supposed to be off the grid._

Natasha stays her course. She’ll be honest even if it’s not the honeyed response Maria expects from the Black Widow.

_I’m reachable to people I want to be._

_I’m honored to make the list. And to answer your question, yes. I’d like to catch up._

_A lot has happened. I haven’t told you about Russia yet._

_I read the report but I’m sure there’s more._

_You have no idea :P_

_I take everything back. It might be best if I don’t know all the ways you break SHIELD protocol._

_I don’t break protocol. Bend, maybe but I’m by the book compared to Barton._

_Again, I probably shouldn’t know this. Go to sleep before I have to fire you both._

The alarm clock beside the bed reads a quarter till one which means Maria is burning the midnight oil in D.C. Dealing with the aftermath of an alien invasion can’t allow for much sleep but it feels too personal to tell her to get some rest. She sends a string of sleepy emojis instead. Funny but impersonal. Maria doesn’t respond and Natasha tells herself it doesn’t matter.

She takes the battery out again and tosses it into the closet. She misses. The battery ricochets off the closet door and under the bed. Par for the course, she thinks and goes to sleep.

* * *

Natasha’s supposed to report to the helicarrier on Fury’s orders when Maria commandeers her for a coffee date.

The order arrives fifteen minutes outside of Washington, D.C. while Natasha is napping in the passenger seat of the Quinjet. Clint flicks her nose to wake her up and she almost pepper sprays him.

“Hey!” He holds up his hands to protect his face before she realizes it's him. The pilot gives them a sidelong glance. He probably thinks they’re insane. Most of SHIELD does.

Clint waits until the pepper spray is safely back in her utility belt before handing her the communications headset.

“Your girlfriend’s calling.”

“I don’t have a girlfriend.” She’s tempted to pepper spray him for that comment but won’t for Laura’s sake. She’ll prank him later instead, Saran Wrap his bow or glue an arrow to his hand while he’s asleep. They’re elite assassins for the world’s largest spy agency. Pranks are an appropriate use of their time and skillset.

Static crackles over the headset. “Romanoff,” Maria says. “I’m diverting your flight to the Triskelion. Report to my office as soon as possible.”

“Any reason in particular? Or do you just miss me, Commander?”

The connection is too patchy to hear Maria sigh but she knows she is. Clint gives her a thumbs up, pepper spray incident quickly forgotten.

They’ve talked about Natasha’s situation with Maria. Clint is supportive. Excited, even. He’s a sap and has always wanted Natasha to have meaning in her life beyond the job. He’s wrong, though. She has meaning enough trying to atone for past sins.

Still, it wouldn’t hurt to be a little less lonely while fixing her mistakes.

“Today’s the only day I can squeeze you in for coffee, unless you like caffè crema because I’m meeting with a Swiss ambassador at three. Also, I need to read you in on something.”

“What about Barton?” It’s an open secret that Natasha and Clint don’t keep classified intel from each other. Fury tolerates it because they’re good at what they do but she doesn’t know what Maria will think. She seems to understand they’re not typical SHIELD agents, especially after the Avengers but she’s still an unknown. An alley and colleague but not necessarily a friend. Yet.

“It’s about him, actually. And you but Barton’s already read in.”

Natasha glares at him. What the hell, says the look. Are you keeping secrets from me?

Clint has always been keen on her nonverbal communication. It’s practically a language itself, a code no other spy can crack.

_Not a secret_, he signs in ASL._ Just pulled a few strings to help with your girlfriend problem._

The pilot definitely thinks they’re crazy as Natasha kicks Clint hard enough to make him stagger against the control panel. The pilot lets out a strangled squeak and almost sends the Quinjet banking hard to the left.

“Sir! Please take a seat and stay far away from the controls!”

Clint rolls his eyes but takes pity on the kid and sits down. _Rude_, he signs.

“Romanoff, are you still there?”

Natasha turns back around. “Yeah. Barton and I were just talking.”

“I won’t ask what that actually means,” Maria says. “Just find me when you get here. Hill out.”

“We’ll be landing soon,” says the pilot, still shaken up after almost losing control of his craft to two bickering assassins. “Please remain seated. Both of you.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Clint tells him.

The rest of the flight is uneventful. Clint hums the refrain of a pop song and Natasha pretends he doesn’t exist. The pilot keeps looking at them like he’s afraid they’ll start shooting each other. He’s so relieved when they land, he all but shoves them out the Quinjet.

“I’m starting to believe people don’t like us,” Clint says and offers his hand as she steps out of the cargo bay. “We’re _personas non grata_.”

“_Personae non gratae,_” Natasha corrects. She takes his hand because even if she wants to kill him, she can compartmentalize.

But if it turns out to be something serious he’s keeping from her, she will kill him.

The Triskelion is chaotic. Over half of SHIELD’s staff is based here from desk jockeys to black ops specialists who don’t exist on paper. Natasha is apt at merging into any environment but she avoids the Triskelion whenever possible. There’s something brutalist in the architecture. It reminds her of Nazi Germany and while standing on the roof, she can almost imagine evil growing in the bones of this building.

Maria’s office is on the seventh floor. It’s cold and utilitarian as the rest of the Triskelion. All harsh lighting and sharp design. She hates how it makes her think of the Academy’s operating room where the last of her will was stripped away. She won’t show weakness, though. She keeps her face straight and marches through this brightly lit hell.

Clint covertly brushes his fingers against her wrist. She thanks him with a nod of her head, barely perceptible. These little touches are rituals that keep their devils at bay. She’s grateful for them even if she never says so aloud. Clint knows and that’s all that matters.

Briefly, Natasha wonders what it would be like to have a web of this trust, a community to uphold her and for her to support in kind. A family. She has Laura and the kids, yes and she wouldn’t trade them for the world but something is missing.

Past the rows of grey, soldierlike cubicles is a larger one with windows. Inside, Maria pulls files from a cabinet. She’s wearing slacks and a white button up with the sleeves rolled to her elbows. A neatly pressed jacket is slung on the back of her chair and a SHIELD uniform folded on the desk. She’s so absorbed in what she’s doing, she doesn’t notice them until Clint knocks.

“Hey, Commander,” he says with no small amount of cheek. “You rang?”

Maria turns around. The top buttons of her shirt are undone and her hair is pulled back in a messy bun. She looks exhausted but still warm and human. A stark contrast to the sterility of her office.

“Barton, Romanoff. I thought for sure you crashed your Quinjet.”

“Maybe next time,” Natasha says. Maria smiles. She’s different than she was at the diner. More confident. She’s in her element now.

Maria finds the file she looking for and tosses it on the table. The folder reads ‘STRIKE TEAM: DELTA’.

“Barton, Fury approved your request to reduce your duties to STRIKE so you can focus more on the Avengers but still have time for your family. Effective immediately.”

“You what?” Natasha can’t blame him for wanting more time with Laura and the kids but she’s sorely tempted to pepper spray him now for keeping her in the dark. How long has he been thinking about this? He said nothing while on the homestead, offered no hint that he was anything but excited to get back to work. It’s a punch in the gut, this blindside. They’re a team. Their absolute trust is the only thing Natasha has never questioned.

Clint offers a crooked smile and shrugs. “I only thought of it this morning. I would’ve told you, Tasha, you know that. But if I did, I would’ve lost my nerve.”

Natasha knows she won’t stay mad. They’ll go a few rounds in the ring until Natasha’s worked off her aggression. She’ll put him in a chokehold, feel bad about it later and buy him candy from the vending machine as an apology. They always work these things out but right now, she’s pissed. She folds her arms over her chest and pointedly ignores him.

Maria notices the storm clouds brewing between them and intervenes. “We’re not leaving you in the lurch, Romanoff. Barton will still work some missions and I’ll accompany you on the rest.”

Now it all makes sense. Her girlfriend problem, as Clint put it. Forget putting him in chokehold, she’ll just shoot him.

Maria sits down and opens the file before continuing. “Fury’s already agreed. He likes the idea of getting me back in the field. It’ll keep me in shape in case the Avengers blow up in our face and SHIELD has to step in.”

“What a vote of confidence,” Natasha says.

“It took Coulson dying for Stark and Thor to get their heads out of their asses. We’ll run out of agents if we have to do that every time.”

Maria hands her a packet of mission notes. She recognizes a few of the assignments. Abidjan, Budapest and others that have been in her peripheral but there’s more she doesn’t. Belarus, Ontario, Portland and dozens of other locations. She flips through them. Some are 8-0-4 missions, others index asset evaluations. It’s beyond her normal scope of business and she imagines Maria is the caveat for working them.

“Fury pulled these specifically for us,” Maria says. “He wants you to assess them and pick the most pressing one. We leave first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Looks like you’re going to have your hands full,” Clint says and pats Natasha on the shoulder. She elbows him in the ribs.

Maria rolls her eyes at them. “You’re dismissed, Barton. I only owe Romanoff coffee, not you. Also, I haven’t entirely forgiven you for slinging arrows at me.”

The quip about the helicarrier incident doesn’t bother Clint. Not much does. He gives Maria a wink before heading to the door. “Far be it from me to interfere with a date.”

She’s going to kill him and throw his body in the Potomac River. Laura will understand. It’s justified.

There’s a moment of awkwardness after Clint leaves. Neither of them acknowledge it, of course. That would be admitting vulnerability. No nervous fidgeting or blushing, just a stretch of heavy silence until Maria reaches under her desk and pulls out two coffee mugs.

“I don’t suppose you have cream and sugar under there too,” Natasha says.

“Don’t push me, Romanoff.”

It’s meant as a threat but there’s a smile behind her words. She stands up and walks to the back of the cubicle where a full coffee pot waits. She brings it back to the desk and fills Natasha’s mug.

“It’s French vanilla so it shouldn’t kill you.”

Natasha cradles the mug in her hands and breathes deeply. Her mind drifts to the happier place that sweet things always bring. The hard candies she kept hidden in her pillow case, the birthday cake Laura baked her when she first visited the homestead. She sighs and lets the harshness of the Triskelion fade away with the smell of vanilla.

Maria watches her then pours her own coffee. She understands, probably even has little routines of her own that keep her safe. Natasha smiles. It's comforting to know she’s not alone.

She sits on the edge of Maria’s desk. “Thank you for the coffee while Clint was in the medbay.”

“Oh, that?” Maria says after a sip. “Don’t worry about it. It was a hard day and I thought you might need a pick me up.”

“It was thoughtful,” Natasha insists. “Really.”

Maria doesn’t blush but she does chug coffee to avoid compliments. It’s adorable and absolutely not something Natasha should tease her about until much later, if ever.

She changes the subject before Maria chokes on her coffee. “Was this why Fury sent you to the diner? A trial run to see if we could work together?”

Maria shrugs. “Like I know what goes on in Fury’s head. The man’s playing three-dimensional with life itself and he might actually be winning.”

“That’s certainly one way to put it.”

They lapse back into silence but it’s not awkward like before. It’s quite companionable, actually. Maria drinks her coffee while Natasha ignores hers in favor of reading the file. Occasionally, Maria will say something about the missions (“The last 8-0-4 I collected almost ate me,” or “Minneapolis is too damn cold.) but mostly, she watches Natasha read. She also drinks Natasha’s coffee when it grows cold, joking she hasn’t slept since the Battle of New York.

“I’m surviving off caffeine at this point,” she says. “The medical team is threatening to put me in a coma if I continue.”

“You should take a nap,” Natasha says and leans over to check Maria’s watch. “You have what, an hour before you have to meet the ambassador from Switzerland?”

“Less. Ambassadors tend to be annoyingly early so I’ll just sleep on the Quinjet tomorrow.”

“I’ll make sure to pick someplace far away then.” She looks at the missions in Europe until she finds something interesting. “How do you feel about Austria? An old HYDRA facility went live last night. Local law enforcement investigated but found nothing.”

She thinks of Steve Rogers and his rage when he discovered SHIELD was stockpiling HYDRA weapons. She feels she has to do this for him, see these demons put to rest. He’s annoyingly inspirational like that, making her think more like a soldier than a spy. It won’t fix everything but just this once, she’ll step out of the moral gray and do something indisputably good for Captain America.

Maria sets down her mug. “It could be fun. What’s the extraction plan?”

Natasha slides the folder back and steals the last swallow of coffee. It’s no Starbucks but french vanilla isn’t bad. She could drink it with that creamer she had on the helicarrier.

“Peggy Carter never had an extraction plan so why would we?

“Because we’re following protocol,” Maria says. “We’re not cowboying this, Romanoff. Figure out a damn extraction plan.”

“Fine. But on one condition - we go on an actual date.”

If Maria’s surprised, she doesn’t show it. She’s as straight-faced as she was after the kiss in the diner. “Only if there’s Ben and Jerry’s,” she says.

“I think that can be arranged.”

Finally, Maria smiles and it’s not the sardonic smile reserved for command. It’s genuine, almost playful. “Just so you know, if Barton or Stark tried this, I would’ve shot them.”

Natasha feels something give within her chest, a tension she’s been carrying since the kiss. Maria likes her. She likes her as a person, maybe even sees her as more than her skill set and past mistakes.

Love is for children but acceptance breathes life into the soul.

She laughs, her first real laugh around someone other than the Bartons. “I’d hope so. Otherwise, I’d have been way off the mark.”

“There’s still time for that. You have to create an extraction plan for any of this to happen.” Maria looks at her watch and sighs. “Alright. I should probably get going. The last thing SHIELD needs is to piss off the World Security Council again.”

She pulls the tie from her hair, shakes it lose before gathering her hair into a ponytail. Natasha feels bold and touches her wrist, stopping her.

“Let me,” she says. Curious, Maria gives her the tie and turns around in her seat. Natasha’s no expert but she can figure out a simple up-do. She starts with a bun, which is harder than doing it to her own hair. Still, she manages. She then tucks the bun inwards and plays with the remaining hair until she’s satisfied. It’s not perfect but it suits Maria. Stern but not stiff.

Maria touches the back of her hair. There’s no mirror to check but she seems satisfied.

“You’re a woman of many talents, Romanoff.”

“It’s my first time doing someone else’s hair so call it beginner’s luck.”

Maria stands and faces Natasha. Her breath catches. A Gibson tuck with a white button up is a preference Natasha never knew she had. She imagines Maria looking like this on the bridge of the helicarrier, severe and pragmatic as she normally is. Now that would be a sight.

“You look nice.” Natasha’s proud of how even her voice sounds because she certainly doesn’t feel in control. Maria grins. Maybe she wasn’t composed as she thought.

“Get out of my office before I’m tempted to skip this meeting.” Maria holds the door open and Natasha steps out. She’ll be polite for now if only because she’s out of her depth. Seduction she can do but dating is a new experience.

“And don’t forget the extraction plan,” Maria calls after her.

The other agents on the floor watch Natasha leave. She can only imagine what they’re thinking. The idea is too good to pass up. She turns around and waves at Maria before stepping into the elevator. Let them try and figure out what they are because Natasha sure as hell doesn’t know.

That being said, Natasha can help but smile.

* * *

True to her word, Maria sleeps the entire trip. It’s impressive. Natasha often naps on the Quinjet but Maria is out for almost nine hours. She has to shake her awake when they land.

“_проснуться_,”Natasha whispers, careful not to startle her. Maria groans and pushes Natasha away without opening her eyes. She slept sitting up, something Natasha could never do. She’s rested in uncomfortable positions before but never as soundly as Maria did.

“Did you tell me to fuck off?” Maria mumbles and stands up. She wobbles. Natasha helps steady her. She forgets most people are at the mercy of normal physiology. Her own body bounces from inactivity the same way it does injury but Maria is subject to the whims of jet lag.

“It’s Russian for ‘wake up’.” She moves Maria’s hand to her shoulder so she can stretch her legs. Maria makes an appreciative grunt and grabs her ankle like Clint does before a run.

“Same thing, really. Especially in Russian.”

“Maybe.”

Maria switches to her other leg. “I speak Spanish and high school-  
level French. Any other language and I’ll just assume you’re saying something rude.”

“_У тебя красивая улыбка”_

Pickup lines have always been in Natasha’s wheelhouse. They’re vain and worthless but saying it a language Maria doesn’t understand makes it feel the opposite. She’s not saying it for Maria but for herself and that’s dangerous.

“I don’t even want to know what that means.”

Maria steps away and begins stretching her arms. Natasha misses the contact as soon as it’s gone so she busies herself with the weapons rack. She’s either too good an actor or Maria can’t read her at all. She tries to reach Maria the only way she knows how, in code. Sometimes, she’ll return her brush passes but Natasha wonders if the information is really being passed along.

“How long until sundown?” Maria asks.

Natasha slides her Widow Bites onto her wrists. Their weight is a comforting reassurance. “Forty-five minutes. It’s a mile hike to the HYDRA facility though so we should leave soon.”

“Let me suit up then we can go,” Maria says and shrugs off her jacket.

Nudity doesn’t faze Natasha but she goes into the cockpit to give Maria some semblance of privacy. Maria laughs and tosses her shirt at Natasha’s back.

“I don’t mind,” she says. “You lose all sense of modesty in the service.”

Natasha flips through the Quinjet’s interface instead of answering. She pulls up the blueprints of the HYDRA facility. They’re as outdated as Steve is but they’ll have to do. The ventilation system hasn’t been updated since World War II so that’s their best point of entry. They figure out the rest when they’re inside.

Intel is also vague. Just satellite footage and the local law enforcement’s scant investigation. Natasha has walked into more obvious traps but this certainly ranks up there.

Natasha hears the zipper of a tactical uniform then a thigh holster being tugged into place. Maria is by her shoulder a moment later.

“Hey,” she murmurs. “Was it something I said?”

Natasha shrugs because really, she doesn’t know. She feels like a schoolgirl puzzling her way through her first crush. Espionage is easier than this.

Maria leans over and shuts off the interface. “If it’s what I think it is, it’s okay. I lose myself to the job too. I’ll look in the mirror and wonder if it’s Maria or Commander Hill I’m seeing. Sometimes, I wonder if there’s a difference.”

Natasha wants to say yes, that’s it but also, is this really working? Do you actually like me or is this a fucked-up sort of pity date? Because she couldn’t handle that. Too many people have taken advantage of her in the past.

She says none of that, though. Instead, she retreats back into the Widow training, distancing herself from the situation. She moves past Maria who watches her, hurt.

“Let’s go blow up some Nazis.”

* * *

Natasha doesn’t often use the word ‘beautiful’ but the Alps certainly are. They’re vast, almost endless. She feels tiny and insignificant at the base of even the smallest mountain.

Maria seems to enjoy the scenery too. She says something about rock climbing but falls silent after that. She’s either giving Natasha space or she’s mad at her. The latter of which is never a good state of mind to be in before a mission. Not that she believes Maria would ever endanger her on purpose. If anything, Maria is perilously close to making the short list of people she trusts.

No, Natasha’s more worried about a lack of focus. Anger, like all emotions, is a distraction. It’s impossible to identify and assess threats properly when something else is occupying your mind. That’s how mistakes are made and she’s not willing to die because of her own stupid feelings.

She waits until they stop to say something. They made it to the facility in only half an hour. The sun has almost set, casting long shadows over the mountains. The facility itself looks ghostly in the light. It’s rusted over with no visible signs of occupation but there’s something amiss. Something, or more likely someone is waiting for them.

Maria perches atop a rocky crag. She definitely feels the same unease but there’s cover enough to stay for the moment. Natasha crouches next to her. A loose rock falls down a sheer cliff face and clatters against an ancient oil drum below. Natasha flinches.

“I think Captain America actually liberated this facility during the war,” Maria says. Her gaze is fixed on the building, waiting for any sign of movement but the sound draws nothing out.

“I’ll ask the next time I see him.” She rolls back onto her heels. Maria still won’t look at her.

“Do you like me?”

Finally, Maria turns her head. She’s not angry. Confused, more than anything. She sits back and dangles her legs over the edge. Natasha joins her when she’s certain Maria isn’t looking for a fight. She’d much rather snap Nazi necks than be attacked for her insecurities.

“Bit of a juvenile question for you, isn’t it?”

Natasha shrugs and looks back at the building. “For the Black Widow, maybe but not Natasha Romanoff.”

“Is she the one that ruins coffee and french toast?”

“I think so,” Natasha says. “It’s impossible to have one without the other but Natasha is the one I rather be.”

“Then yes, I like you.” Maria smiles, more to herself than at Natasha. “You don’t have to tell me how this fucked up world turns us into things we’re not proud of. I’ve made mistakes you don’t know about - big ones that keep me up at night. If you’re putting me on a pedestal, don’t. I recognize the difference between you and the Black Widow and it’s you I’m interested in but I also know you’re a packaged deal.”

Her smile finds Natasha. “Does that answer your question?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” Maria says. “Because I have a question for you. Why me? And why now?”

“That’s two questions.”

Maria pokes her in the ribs. “Don’t be cute.”

Natasha catches her hand, holds it tight by the wrist. “Now who’s being juvenile,” she teases. Maria tries to pull away. In terms of raw strength, Maria has the definite advantage but Natasha is adaptive. She hooks her elbow over Maria’s and pins her arm against her side.

“Just answer the damn question,” Maria says through gritted teeth. She’s holding back laughter, Natasha realizes and the thought alone is enough to make her giggle. Beneath the facade of Commander Hill, Maria likes to play-wrestle and that’s adorable.

“Romanoff, I swear to fucking God - “

She lets her go before she throws her over the cliff. “Alright. Don’t hurt yourself.” To her surprise, Maria holds her hand properly instead of pulling away. She squeezes it before continuing.

“First, why not you?” Natasha says. “It’s not romantic as love at first sight but it’s reasonable. You’re an attractive woman who dates other women. Why wouldn’t I take the chance?”

“Second, aliens attacked New York and I almost lost my best friend to a magic mind control stick. I realized I was putting my life on the line without really having one. If I’m going to die saving the world, I want to do so as a human and not the weapon I was trained to be.”

Maria tangles their fingers together. She wants to say something, Natasha can tell but something moves in the window nearest to them. It’s just a shadow but Natasha recognizes the stance of a sniper getting ready to fire.

She throws herself off the cliff, dragging Maria with her as a bullet shatters the rock where they were standing. The ground hits hard. Her shoulder snaps out of place. She can’t breathe. A collapsed lung, probably. Somehow, she managed to pull Maria atop of her and take the brunt of the fall. She’s safe, that’s all that matters.

Maria’s reaction is instantaneous. She pulls out her gun and fires without moving off of Natasha. She’s protecting her, using her own body as a shield. Natasha struggles. She can’t let Maria do that, not when a single shot could kill her. Natasha is stronger. She was engineered to take as many bullets as needed to get the job done. She should -

“Stop fucking moving!” Maria presses a hand onto her face and holds her down. She shoots again with her other hand. This time, she finds her mark. There’s the nauseating wet pop of a shattering skull followed by the clatter of a gun. Then, silence.

Maria waits, gun trained on the window. No one takes the sniper’s place but Maria doesn’t relax.

“We’re too exposed,” she says. “We need to move, find cover before his friends come running.”

Natasha nods. She can’t speak. Definitely a collapsed lung, possible pulmonary contusion as well. She’ll need surgery but her body should be able to minimize the damage until the mission is complete. She was made to take a beating. Designed like the glock Maria is holding to survive by taking lives.

Fingers brush against her cheek. She closed her eyes, she realizes and Maria is now hovering over her. She dropped her gun to hold Natasha’s face. Stupid. She needs to be ready for another assault, not fussing over her.

She tries to sit up but a stabbing pain below her shoulder stops her. Maria holds her down. She reaches under Natasha and finds some that makes her face grow pale.

“Don’t move, Nat,” she says. “Just stay right where you are. It’s going to be okay.”

Maria touches her earpiece and barks an order to the extraction team. There’s blood on her hand. Why is there blood on her hand? It’s bright red. If Maria hurt her hand, the blood would be darker so it’s not hers. This is arterial flow from a penetrating chest wound. Someone is bleeding to death.

“I need medevac now,” Maria says. “Romanoff’s hit. Through-and-through to the chest. I don’t think she’s breathing.”

Natasha must of hit her head during the fall because Maria’s words don’t make sense. She wasn’t hit. The blood isn’t hers, she would know if it was. Her vision grows grey at the edges. She can’t breathe. She can’t breathe.

Maria tilts her chin up, opening her airway just enough for one wheezing breath. Her mind clears enough to notice her uniform is sticky with blood. Lots of blood. And the stain is only growing larger. Maria presses down on her chest, trying to staunch the flow.

“You don’t get to die on me,” she says like she can will her to stay alive. “You understand, Nat? You don’t die today. You can’t.”

Natasha nods weakly. If she keeps breathing, she’ll be okay. Her body needs oxygen to stitch itself back together. Hypoxia. Cell death after five minutes. Years of medical knowledge twisted into an assassin’s repertoire comes rushing back. How many people has she left dying like this? Dozens. Hundreds. It’s fitting if this is how she goes, a death she’s dolled out until her ledger was dripping red.

There’s a gunshot. Maria ducks and protects Natasha the best she can. Her chin falls forward without support. She can’t breathe.

Maria returns fire but Natasha’s already losing consciousness. She closes her eyes.

Her last thought is that Maria called her Nat, not Romanoff.

Something is beeping. That’s the first thought Natasha has.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

It’s a heartbeat. The slow, steady pulse of someone being monitored by an ECG machine.

Her second thought is something smells like coffee. Hot coffee but also cold. Like the stand at the mall she and Clint don’t visit nearly often enough. They took Cooper there once when he was teething. The only thing that calmed him was being in the car and they must’ve drove an hour before he fell asleep. Sugary caffeinated drinks were what kept them sane that night.

She turns her head to the smell and opens her eyes. A styrofoam cup of coffee and a blended drink from Starbucks rest on a small table. A nightstand, she initially thinks because she’s laying in a bed but then she sees the wires. The electrodes stuck to her chest under a flimsy hospital gown. An IV in her left arm delivers blood from a bag hanging above the bed. No painkillers. Someone must have told the doctor she would metabolize them too quickly to be of any use.

Her right shoulder aches. She tries to move it but realizes it’s immobilized in a sling. There’s also a tube in her chest, right between two of her ribs. She touches it with her free hand and fights the urge to rip it out.

This isn’t the Red Room, she tells herself. You need this to heal.

Natasha takes stock of the rest of her body. Cuts and bruises none more severe than needing a butterfly clip and time. She feels (and probably looks) like shit but she’s alive. Somehow.

The next thing she needs to ascertain is where she is. It’s a medical facility but not one she knows. She looks around for any iconography - a symbol, a seal or the name of the hospital but finds nothing. The room is barren. Just clean, white walls and the matching bed. Even the medical machines lack a manufacturer’s name.

She ignores the cries of her battered body and sits up. She’d be tempted to flee if it wasn’t for the coffee which is half empty but still steaming. Maria is nearby.

The door opens and Natasha hopes it’s her but instead, a blonde woman wearing a lab coat steps in. Her badge identifies her as Agent Morse.

“Agent Romanoff,” Agent Morse says. “It’s good to see you awake.”

“Where’s Hill?” Natasha asks.

Agent Morse moves to check her vitals. She watches her, wary. Morse smiles.

“The Commander just stepped out to take a call. She’ll be back shortly.”

Satisfied by the readings, Morse reaches to check her chest tube. She flinches. Morris stops and holds up his hands.

“I can find the Commander if you aren’t comfortable with me examining you alone.”

Natasha shakes her head and lies back down. If this is a SHIELD facility, she won’t put Maria in a position that might imply a relationship, especially if this agent already thinks they have one. She can handle a physical examination by herself. She’d been a child when she went under the knife at Graduation. She doesn’t need to hold Maria’s hand for this.

“Where am I?”

“The new medical ward of the helicarrier, Iliad,” Morse says. She moves Natasha’s gown and examines the tube. Her touches are light and intrusive, evident that she’s worked with patients like Natasha before. The deeply hurt and untrusting. Morse might even share these traits. Natasha recognizes her sympathy as more than a doctor’s or nurse’s. She’s treating Natasha with the respect she’d want in her case.

“We’re in the middle of a refit,” Morse continues. “Technically, we’re out of service but we were the closest to your location. You’re lucky we had a surgeon onboard. Your left lung was hamburger meat when they opened you up and your right had enough fluid to kill a person twice over.”

“I’m wondering if dying wasn’t the better option,” Natasha says. “I feel like shit.”

Morse pulls the gown back over her shoulders. “I imagine you feel worse than shit, going through this without painkillers. Good news is at your rate of cellular growth, you’ll be back to fieldwork in less than two weeks.”

“I don’t see how two weeks of this is good news.”

Morse scribbles something on the chart at the edge of the bed. She writes like someone used to getting things done. Staccato strokes ending with a flourish of the pen. Her letters are probably straight like soldiers ready to receive orders. Natasha admires that kind of handwriting. Her own is chaotic, illegible. All loops and dark hashes. She usually types her reports because of it.

Morse offers Natasha a sympathetic smile. “It sucks but at least you have coffee. And the good kind too.”

“I suppose so,” Natasha says. She looks at the Frappuccino. It’s been there for a while, long enough for the whipped cream to start melting down the sides. Even if she could reach it, it’d be too messy to hold.

The door swings open. Maria steps in, professional as always - like she hadn’t put herself in harm’s way to protect Natasha how ever many hours earlier. She changed out of her tactical uniform in favor of an outfit clearly raided from the locker room. Worn jeans, a grey t-shirt a size too big and the standard blue SHIELD jacket. Beyond a few stitches, she looks fine.

When she realizes Natasha’s awake, a look of sheer relief flickers across her face. She controls it, though and returns to her intimidating persona. Chin up, hands behind her back, she’s ready to command a fleet of helicarriers dressed like a cadet on a field trip.

“So, I’m not dead,” Natasha says because she can’t think of anything wittier. Maria is okay and that seems to be messing with her higher brain function.

Morse laughs. “I can confirm that Agent Romanoff’s in fact not dead,” she says. As far as first impressions go, Natasha decides she likes her. She’s a good agent. If Fury ever let her have a team of her own, Morse would make the list. Coulson will probably get her first, though because she’s stuck playing superhero.

Being the only female Avenger sucks. SHIELD has plenty of agents like Morse who’d be an excellent addition to the team but the public would throw a fit if there was another person like her. A woman with no powers. The sexism of it makes her wish aliens really did take over the world.

“Thank you for watching her,” Maria says. “I know nursing isn’t your expertise but I appreciate you keeping her alive.”

“She was a model patient and really, after tonight, the chest tube can come out.”

“Just tell me when I can leave this place,” Natasha grumbles. She sits up again and feels the tube move with her. Not dying is a good thing but having a piece of tubing in her lung is almost as bad.

Maria notices her wince. She stands by the bed and touches her shoulder. A simple gesture but one that speaks volumes for the proper Commander Hill.

“I’m going to strangle whoever shot me with this tube.”

Maria squeezes her shoulder. “I already shot him for you, don’t worry.”

Agent Morse gives them a knowing look. They aren’t fooling anyone but she’ll keep their secret, Natasha is sure.

“If you need anything, I’ll be down in the bio lab,” she says and heads for the door.

“Thank you,” Natasha says before she leaves. “For taking time out of your day to make sure I didn’t aspirate in my sleep. I really appreciate it.”

“Just give me your autograph sometime and we’ll call it even.” Morse winks and lets the door shut behind her, leaving Natasha and Maria alone.

“I think I have an admirer,” Natasha says, only half joking.

Maria is silent. She’s looking at Natasha in a way that no one ever has before. Part relief, part exasperation but mostly fondness, like she can’t believe Natasha is really here. She knows better than to think Maria will cry but she’s doing whatever the Commander Hill equivalent is.

Natasha takes her hand. “Hey. You look like you’re either going to kiss me or shoot me and someone’s already done the later.”

Maria steps closer. She slides her fingers in Natasha’s hair. Natasha leans against her and closes her eyes. She smells like antiseptic and SHIELD laundry detergent. Natasha breathes it in, holds it greedily in her lungs. She can breathe again.

“They knew we were coming, Nat. I knew they probably would but there were men at every exit. It was a kill box. Someone wants us dead.”

This is really stressing to Maria but Natasha finds it hard to care. Someone always wants her dead. Maria is warm and alive. That all that matters.

Natasha wraps her good arm around Maria’s waist, mindful not to tangle the IV. “Say that again.”

“Someone wants us dead?”

“No. Nat. You called me Nat when I was shot too.”

“Oh.” Maria’s fingers still for a moment. “I didn’t even realize. Sorry.”

“I like it. You sound so bossy when you call me Romanoff.”

Maria laughs deep from her diaphragm. Natasha loves just the sound of her laugh but it’s intimate to hear it echoed through flesh and bone. She smiles.

“I have to be bossy with you. You’re a real maniac if this doesn’t bother you.”

“It does but I was also unconscious for the whole thing. It’s hard to care about things you don’t remember. Besides,” she holds Maria tighter, “we can just fuck up whoever did this.”

“Language, Romanoff. I’m starting to think they really did drug you.”

Natasha hooks her thumb through Maria’s belt loop and pulls her closer to the bed. Maria takes the hint and sits down. Natasha fits herself under Maria’s arm and rests her chin on her shoulder.

“I’m trying to ignore the fact that I have a tube in my lungs and that I can kind of feel it if I breathe too hard.”

“Well, don’t take a bullet for me next time.”

Natasha looks up at her. “Is that what happened?” She only remembers trying to protect Maria from the fall. When she actually took the bullet is a mystery to her.

Maria nods and stares straight forward. She’s slipping back into the memory, seizing up at it. Natasha finds her hand and squeezes it. Maria squeezes back, tightly.

“You put yourself between me and the sniper then threw us off the cliff. Some bullet fragments actually ended up in my jacket.”

“Did you keep them?” It’s a stupid question but it works. Maria focuses back on the real world and looks at her like she’s mad. Natasha grins.

“And what? Make a necklace out of them?”

“It’d be a cool birthday present if you ask me. Just an idea for next year.”

Maria shakes her head. There’s still a far off look in her eyes but she’s back here, in this room and not that cliff. You can’t exorcised all your demons at once, Natasha knows but this is a small victory. That’s all healing really is, one small victory after another. A chest tube removed one day, leaving the hospital the next. A series of steps until you realize you’re okay and the pain doesn’t mean your bleeding out anymore. It’s just scar tissue.

“Just stay vigilant,” Natasha says. “Your gut’s gotten you this far. You’ll figure out who’s behind this.”

“I have an idea but I hope I’m wrong.”

“Someone in SHIELD?”

“All the intel was encrypted,” Maria explains. “Only us and STRIKE saw the actual plan which means someone high up had to leak it. And who to, I have no fucking clue. Clean up found nothing. Said it was the work of individuals, not a group.”

“Which you don’t believe.”

“Of course not. A few pissed off people don’t have the clout to take out an Avenger and the deputy director of SHIELD. This is bigger.”

Frustrated, Maria reaches for her coffee and takes an angry swallow. Natasha’s Frappuccino has melted beyond recognition. She would still drink it, though if her arm weren’t in a sling.

“Who did clean up?”

“Rumlow and Sitwell,” Maria says after another sip. “I’ll keep tabs on them but I doubt it’ll lead to anything. They’re too good.”

She offers her the last of the coffee. Natasha wrinkles her nose.

“Just help me drink the Frappuccino. I need sugar to plot.”

Maria makes a disgusted face but leans across Natasha. She cleans the sides with a napkin then hands her the drink. The cup is still sticky and Natasha will regret this later when she has to go to the bathroom but right now, she’s happy. She’s alive with coffee and that’s pretty great.

“That probably has salmonella. I bought it when you first went into surgery like, seven hours ago.”

Natasha looks up at Maria and takes a sip. The milk has risen to the top and the syrup to the bottom and it’s all disgustingly watered down but she’s touched. Maria was worried about her and got her real coffee. That seems to be her way of showing affection.

“We’ll figure it out,” Natasha says and genuinely believes they will. She remembers their nascent trust in the diner half a year ago, when Maria hesitantly leant into that kiss. Fury had put them together as insurance in case something like this happened. His two strongest pieces on the board are side by side, protecting each other. If enemies are planted in SHIELD or something happens to Fury, they’ll have someone to trust. She wonders if he saw this coming.

Maria grumbles, either about Natasha’s optimism or the fact she’s actually drinking the melted mess. Her loss.

“Again, we’ll figure it out.”

“There’s a we now?” Maria smiles slightly. Natasha leans closer to her, angles her head so their noses brush together.

“You involved me in your conspiracy. I’m at least compliant now.”

“How terrible,” Maria whispers and closes the gap.


	2. 2013 (Maria)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deceptions of trauma-related stress. Also, smut. 
> 
> The majority of this was written in the supply closet at work. During breaks, of course. Because I'm a responsible employee.

**2013**

A year passes and the battle of New York is remembered. Maria attends President Ellis’s commemoration speech in Manhattan which is held in the middle of the street because the president is fucking insane. It’s a logistical nightmare but thankfully not hers for once. SHIELD is just a guest tonight. Maria only has to shake a few hands then she can go home and catch the Toronto game. She’s been trying to get Nat into hockey but results have varied. Nat usually raids her office for anything sweet instead of listening to her explain penalty shots.

A New York Rangers key strap did end up on her desk, however. She never told Nat her favorite team. Doesn’t have one, but she might now. She carries it with her, a permanent accessory like her phone or her gun.

Maria sits in the second row of foldout chairs, wearing a dress the SHIELD PR team bought for the event. They wanted her to wear a sheath but Maria refused. If she had to be out of uniform, she damn well was going to wear something she could hide a gun under.

She touches the grip of her Glock, hidden by the fabric of her skirt. Nat is on stage with the other Avengers, seated behind the president who drones on about their bravery. The secret service secured the area but Maria is ever vigilant. She scans the windows above. She’s worked through most of the trauma from the Austria mission with her SHIELD appointed therapist but this situation makes her uneasy. Too many opportunities for sniper attacks. If she was Ellis’ man, she’d have flat out rejected this idea.

Nat catches her eye and smiles. She’s seated between Barton and Banner. The PR team got their mitts on her, too. A flowy red dress that could hide so many more weapons than Maria’s black A-line. She’s jealous and not just for the extra hiding spots. It’s unfair they only dress like this when they’re on the clock. 

Even if this is just a social gathering, Maria has work to do. Rollins is next to her. She’s been watching him since the Austria mission with little to show for it. They rarely interact and she’s hoping he might let something slip. Nat’s been working Rumlow, Maria’s replacement for STRIKE. She quietly hates them both for the long stretches apart and shooting their traitorous asses will be that much more rewarding because of it.

But all she’s manage to learn so far is Rollins is a closet creep. He whistled low when Nat stepped on stage, ogling at the dress’s neckline.

“Russian Ice Princess,” he told the agent on his left. “Would love to make that one melt.”

“Good luck with that,” the agent next to him said. “I’ve heard she’s seeing someone.”

“Romanoff? I always thought she’d be the casual type.”

The agent shrugged. “That’s just what I’ve heard.”

“I wonder who the lucky guy is,” Rollins said after a moment. “And if he’d mind sharing.”

Maria almost shot him right there, investigation be damned. She has zero patience for locker room talk. The fact it’s Nat they’re talking about is what makes her stop. If anyone deserves to shoot this creep, it’s her. Or kick him of skyscraper, Nat would like that.

She sits up straight when everyone around her starts clapping. It’s thunderous, the perfect distraction for a hit. She keeps her eyes on the roof but nothing happens. President Ellis finishes his speech and the memorial ends without incident.

Rollins leans next to her. “You’re jumpy today, Hill. Is there an assassination plan I don’t know about?”

Nat would smile and play to his ego but not Maria. She meets aggression in kind and stares him down. “I don’t know. Is there?” 

Rollins laughs. “Relax, Hill. There’s no alien invasion today. Let the secret service worry about security and enjoy yourself.”

He’s good as what he does. He appears jovial, like he genuinely finds Maria funny. Absolutely nothing gives him away as a double agent beyond her gut feeling.

“If only I could, Agent Rollins but some of us have to greet the leader of the free world.”

Maria’s here on Fury’s behalf and she knows that must burn Rollins. She has her suspicions about his loyalty to Fury but Rollins is like any another high ranking agent, proud and entitled. Like much of SHIELD, he didn’t approve of Maria as Fury’s second. She was young and a relatively junior agent. Rollins had done his time and was one of the more obvious candidates.

That’s how she plans to put pressure on him, by digging at this insecurity. If she can make herself more of a target, he might just slip up.

“Where is Fury tonight?” Rollins asks. “He never makes a public appearance but I thought he’d make an exception just this once.”

“He had to take his cat to the vet.” It’s the actual excuse he gave Maria and she almost believes it. Fury’s cat is weird and requires a strange amount of maintenance. He takes it to New Orleans every so often. She can’t fathom why but he insists it’s absolutely necessary.

“Because he couldn’t schedule a rabies shot any other time.” Again, Rollins seems casual but that voice in Maria’s head tells her otherwise. She’s learned to trust that voice. It’s kept her alive this long. 

“Apparently not but that’s what he has me for.” This time, she does smile. It’s sardonic, mocking. Rollins takes the bait.

He stands up. Maria does too. Mirror, apply pressure. She’s rewarded with a flicker of annoyance across his face.

“You think highly of yourself, Hill.”

“Commander Hill,” she corrects and steps into his space, blocking him. Around them, hundreds of people file out of their rows. He’s isolated, cut off from the pack and the shift in power is a tangible thing. Electric. Maria will burn anyone that threatens SHIELD’s mission.

Rollins’ facade fractures further. He frowns, moves his weight from one foot to the other. “Excuse me, _Commander_. I shouldn’t keep you from the president.”

Maria doesn’t answer. She stares at him, arms crossed until his jaw clenches.

“Commander, if you would be so kind.”

Rollins jesters for her to move. Behind him, the agent he was talking to earlier watches. Kaminsky or something. He stands up slowly and moves directly behind Rollins. It’s not an overt threat but enough for Maria to know it’s now two against one.

She steps aside. Rollins scurries past but Kaminsky lingers a moment. He looks her up and down, appraising.

“Watch yourself, Commander. No one likes an agent who throws her weight around.”

“At least I have weight to throw around unlike you, Kaminsky. You Rollins’ lapdog now? His little bitch to boss around?”

Kaminsky is a brute of a man. All muscle and no brains. His only response is to posture but Maria doesn’t scare easily. She sneers back until he follows Rollins.

“I’d be careful if I were you,” is all he says.

The crowd begins to disperse. Businessmen, politicians and other influential people line up for their sixty seconds with the Avengers. Mostly the Big Three - Stark, Thor and Rogers. Banner, Barton and Nat slip away as soon as the secret service escort Ellis off the stage.

Maria’s surprised Banner showed up at all, let alone stay through the entire affair. The environment isn’t exactly low stress. Nat must have convinced him to come. She has a soft spot for him, like all misfits. To the public, she’s the sex symbol of the Avengers but in reality, she’s as much as an outcast as Banner.

Maria feels Nat likes it that way, though. She likes to be doubted then prove everyone wrong. More than that, she really loves the mismatch nature of the Avengers. Barton has always been strange bird (pun intended) but Rogers is the man lost in time and Banner has the worst case of Doctor Jekyll and Mister Hyde she’s ever seen. Even Stark’s a bit off kilter with reality, pushing the mad scientist trope, especially after the Mandarin incident. Nat identifies with these assholes and loves them for some reason.

She spots Nat and Banner near the partition that cordons off 22nd Street. Barton is fuck knows where, probably on a roof at this point. He really does like high places. Fine. Barton is the one sniper she can deal with since she was practically indoctrinated into his secret family last Christmas.

The sun has begun to set, another bad thing for safety but it casts Nat in a beautiful light. She’s silhouetted by the last reds and oranges of the day, softly contrasted by the florescent glow of the street lamps flickering to life. Maria isn’t sentimental but she’d like to capture this moment, take a picture and keep it in her wallet like the Steve Rogers of the world used to do. Nat would tease her endlessly if she ever did.

Banner looks around nervously. They’re out of the crowd but she imagines that doesn’t mean much to Banner. If he loses control and levels Manhattan again, he’ll probably run back off to the mountains.

Nat touches his arm and says something Maria can’t hear. Banner nods and relaxes just a bit. Nat smiles.

Maria walks over to them. Nat notices her before Banner does because of course she does. Nat is always on alert, she just never looks it like Maria does.

“Careful,” Maria says. “People might start talking about you two.”

Banner turns to her and scratches the back of his neck. He’s always so awkward. He never makes eye contact, just stares to the left of Maria’s face. It doesn’t bother her. Whatever makes him comfortable. They’re sort of alike that way, both off putting to strangers.

Maria having something in common with a genius - Ed would never believe it.

Nat slides her arm through Banner’s and leans against him like a smitten southern belle. “Are you spreading rumors about us, Hill?”

“Not me - Agents Rollins and Kaminsky. They think you’re seeing someone.”

She told Nat about her plan before the memorial. The desired outcome for has yet to be determined. If Rumlow and Sitwell were behind the Austria mission, Maria wants to provoke them into another attack. That way, they can find out if their motives are personal or bigger. Rollins is Sitwell's man. Smart but easier to break and traditional wisdom teaches to go for the lackeys first. The enemy is nothing without his followers.

Nat doesn’t like the idea of Maria using herself as bait but it’s the only plan they have. She sticks out her tongue at the mention of Rollins.

“Like those two know a thing about dating.”

“I feel like this doesn’t actually have anything to do with me,” Banner says. 

Nat pats his arm. “The tabloids would disagree. Today’s headlines suggest I’m in a love triangle with you and Clint.”

“And the week before you were pregnant with Stark’s child,” Maria says. “You’d think they’d have something better to do, like report actual news.”

“It’s sensationalism,” Banner explains. “Biased interpretations of trivial topics to sell more magazines. Truth doesn’t do nearly as well on the market.”

“You’re telling me, Doctor Banner.”

Nat gives Banner one last smile before letting go of his arm which he returns. For someone who claims her smiles are masks, she has a talent for drawing out genuine ones from others.

“Will you get home alright, Banner?” Maria realizes she doesn’t know where Banner lives, if anywhere. He just kind of _appears_. Should she offer to walk him home? That’s what’s colleagues do, right? Clumsy scenarios like this are why Maria prefers to stick to herself. Commanding is easier, less personal. 

God, does she misses her uniform. It’s armor in these situations. Without it, she’s exposed, more so in this stupid dress that can only hide a single gun. She needs her jacket and some actual shoes. 

Nat shares a look with Banner before taking Maria by the arm. She feels like she’s missing out on something but is soon distracted by Nat sidling next to her. Banner chuckles.

“Thank you, but I’m really fine. I wouldn’t want to intrude, anyway.”

Maria doesn’t know what to think about Nat cuddling up to her in such a public place, let alone what Banner means by “intrude”. They go to great lengths to protect their privacy, rarely talking to each other at work and keeping their meetings low profile. She doesn’t think the Avengers have ever seen them interact.

Banner, however doesn’t look surprised in the slightest. He pockets his hands and smiles at them both.

“Have a good night, Nat. You too, Commander.”

Nat waves at him as he walks back into the chaos. “Goodnight, Bruce. Don’t let Tony do anything stupid!”

When Banner disappears around the corner, Nat rests her chin on Maria’s shoulder and grins. She’s wearing lipstick, dark red like her dress and coiffed hair. A spy only wears red when they want to be noticed. It’s a dangerous color but one Nat wears well.

“Before you ask, no, I didn’t tell him,” Nat says. “Bruce is more observant than anyone gives him credit for.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything.”

Nat taps her nose, giggling. If Maria didn’t know better, she’d think Nat was drunk. But really, she’s just happy. Having a team has been good for her. 

“Bullshit,” Nat says. “You were about to interrogate him.”

“There’s nothing to interrogate him about. It’s just sex.”

Nat stiffens in her arms and Maria immediately wants to take back her words. They decided (or more accurately, Maria insisted) this would be casual. Maria doesn’t like depending on people. Hates it, actually. She spent her childhood depending on no one but herself and she won’t start now. There just isn’t room in her life for romance or trust. Her therapist would say that thinking is why she needs to let people in but her therapist doesn’t have her job. She’s the deputy director of SHIELD, a position that requires her to be self sufficient.

But God, she might just give it all up for Natasha fucking Romanoff. 

She thinks Nat will pull away but she only snuggles closer. No one else is around - the one time Stark’s fame is useful - so she risks holding her. 

“Oh, Maria.” Nat presses a kiss to her shoulder. The words left unspoken weigh heavy between them. _I love you. Just be happy, please._ And _I’m sorry. This isn’t fair_.

Fuck it, Maria thinks and lifts Nat’s face to hers. She looks at her, dewy-eyed with a faint flush creeping up her neck. Nat doesn’t cry, never has but she looks like she might and that breaks something in Maria.

The kiss is fervid, all teeth and tongue with no gentle preamble. Nat whimpers as she slides a hand into her hair and _tugs_. She slips her tongue past her lips. Nat accepts her hungrily and hooks an ankle behind her leg, bringing her pelvis against Maria’s thigh. Her other leg wraps around her waist. She’s holds herself up with ease but Maria’s hands find her ass and lift her higher, delighting in the friction.

_Why is it you? Why does it feel like I’ve found some missing part of me? I’m whole. I’m strong. I’ve been so my entire life. I don’t need this but God, do I want it._

Nat moves against her. Slow, deliberate torture. Her skirt has risen past her thighs. Maria explores further and finds smooth skin and standard grey SHIELD briefs. She knows without looking because Nat never wears anything else. Unless it’s for a mission, she prefers plain underwear. Knowing that intimate quirk, that strange little preference of Natasha Romanoff is more than Maria has any right to.

This is quickly devolving into something two government agents shouldn’t be doing on the street. Nat has discovered Maria’s wearing a strapless bra and is trying to unhook it. She reprimands her with a sharp little nip.

“Romanoff,” she warns. “Not in public.”

Nat pulls away. Her lipstick is ruined, smeared across her cheek and probably Maria’s too. Her hair isn’t much better. The curls she must have spent hours perfecting for the cameras are a suggestion of what’s to come if Nat keeps looking at her like that. Messy, aggressive sex to forget the line Maria’s drawn in the sand.

“Fine.” Nat pouts but she won’t push Maria. She knows how she is, respects her need for control. They communicate well about these things, just never matters of the heart.

Nat moves to drop back to the ground but Maria stops her. She can’t say what Nat needs to hear, not yet but she can show her.

“My apartment is a block and half away if you want to continue this there.”

She’s never brought Nat home, mostly because she doesn’t really have a home. She sees her apartment once a month if she’s lucky. It’s an empty space, a mere shell of a normal life but it’s the only thing Maria owns in name. It’s real in a way her quarters on the helicarrier aren’t. Bringing her there would mean something. She would see what poor excuse for a human lives behind the title of commander. No friends or family. Just an apartment she never visits.

Nat cradles her cheek in her palm. Maria leans in, allows herself this creature comfort. They’re rarely soft but when they are, it’s always Nat who initiates. Maria would say she’s incapable of such affection but that’d be a lie. She watched over Nat while she recovered on the _Iliad_; smoothed her hair as she slept and brought her coffee. The disgusting sugary kind she loves so much. Maria is just a gentle.

“I might cop a feel on the walk there,” Nat admits. Her hand slips down the back of Maria’s dress to prove her point. Maria drops her.

“Just do it where there’s no cameras,” she says. “I don’t want to end up on the front page of the _New York Bulletin_.”

Nat lands gracefully, bouncing back on the tip of her toes to kiss Maria. Her bottom lip stings as Nat catches it between her teeth. Nat grins, wicked.

“Fair enough.”

It’s impossible to hide in a city like New York with CCTV cameras everywhere but you can certainly lose yourself. For a moment, she’s not Commander Hill. She’s not even Maria. She’s just a woman in the company of another woman and that’s hardly complicated.

The sun has set fully and dusk settles around them. Nat takes her hand. Not exactly the ‘cop a feel’ Maria expected but it’s pleasant. She doesn’t let herself think of it as anything but that. Not romantic, sweet or perfect. Just pleasant.

Maria’s apartment is on the sixth floor of a building that could be found anywhere in America. It’s impersonal which is why she likes it. She rarely sees her neighbors. Or anyone, for that matter. The doorman isn’t even in the lobby tonight. They’re completely alone as they make their way to the elevator.

Nat looks around. “Only one security camera. Not where I expected Maria Hill to live.”

“I spend most of my life on a flying warship. Forgive me for not wanting badges and retina scans in my home.”

Maria wouldn’t mind a faster elevator, though. This one takes forever. She presses the button again as if it will help. Nat catches her wrist, raises an eyebrow.

“That won’t do anything.”

“It might.”

Nat smiles and brings the inside of her wrist to her lips. A devastatingly intimate gesture that goes against her training - trusting Nat with such a vulnerable part of her body. She sucks in a breath and curls her fingers until her nails dig into her palm. A whine builds inside her chest as Nat traces her veins with her tongue. She won’t make a sound, won’t allow Nat the satisfaction of seeing her undone like that. Gasping and begging for release. She imagines guiding Nat’s hand to her breast or up her dress, roughly demanding her to please her. She won’t. She’ll stay strong and -

_Ding_.

The elevator opens. Maria shoves Nat in, boxes her against the railing. She slams the button for the sixth floor with the heel of her hand.

Thank God there’s no camera in the elevator because Maria’s either going to kill this woman or fuck her until she forgets the dangerous thoughts in her head. Thoughts like letting her stay the night or saying something career-ending.

“What?” Nat asks sweetly, head tilted to the side.

Maria groans. Actually fucking groans. She’s never made a sound during sex, not with Nat or any of the women before her. She pleases herself after her partners leave, quietly reaching her orgasm with a hand clamped over her mouth. It’s efficient and all she’s ever needed. This slip up won’t change that.

Nat brushes her thumb against her lips, surprisingly tender. “Don’t hide it if you don’t want to.”

“It’s not a matter of want,” Maria admits. “It’s about control.”

Nat understands. She’s submissive but always in control. Maria fucks and Nat guides her, she has no illusions about that. It’s partly why this arrangement works out. Maria needs someone to service and Nat has to call the shots. Maria can’t shed the walls she’s built around her any easier than Nat can.

_Ding_.

The elevator opens behind them. Maria resigns herself to an awkward night when Nat kisses her brow, fingers sliding into her hair. Nat has a thing for hair, Maria figured that out last year when she fixed her up for the ambassador. Suits too, though they’ve yet to explore that.

“Will you trust me?” She asks.

Maria nods. Whatever Nat is plotting is going to backfire because these things always do with Maria but she trusts her. She can deny it all she wants but she does. Maria trusts Nat and that’s the simple truth.

The hallway is empty like always. Maria leads her down the left to apartment six-one-six. The vinyl numbers are peeling away, the last six sagging and looking more like a nine. Maria fixes it, pretends she’s here enough to care about appearances.

Nat holds her hand while she finds her key. She slid it into the band of her thigh holster because the only thing worse than her dress would be carrying a stupid clutch with it. If SHIELD can build a helicarrier, they could make dresses with pockets. Really, it’s not that revolutionary of a concept. 

She doesn’t blush when Nat grins at her New York Rangers key strap. It’s not as if she carries it around because she likes it. She’s not even a fan of the team. The strap is just efficient.

The key sticks in the door. Maria has to jiggle it and knock the rust loose before turning it. She doesn’t want to think about the dust that’s certainly collected on her bed or how long it will take for the shower to start working. The transient life has its setbacks.

“I can pick the lock,” Nat says. Maria ignores her and shoves the door open.

A pile of mail scatters across the floor. All junk. Maria’s tried to get off their mailing lists but credit card companies are persistent in a soul-sucking way. She’s just accepted them as a necessary evil.

Nat looks around as Maria kicks the mail into a corner. (She may have resigned herself to its terror but that doesn’t mean she’ll dignify it a spot on the counter.) A plain room with no decorations. She doesn’t think she even has plates or silverware. There might be a few mugs in the cupboard but the most personal thing here is a months old crossword puzzle on the coffee table.

Nat runs her hand along the leather couch and turns to Maria.

“Take off the dress and put the gun on the table but keep the holster on.”

Maria stops, an ad for Best Buy still stuck to her shoe. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Nat says. “Dress on the floor, gun on the table but keep the holster on.”

When Maria doesn’t move, Nat takes her by the hand. She pulls her in the direction of the bedroom - it’s not that hard to guess, her apartment is a fucking shoe box. The Best Buy ad stays behind along with Maria’s brain. She can’t think of anything to say and just stares at Nat.

“You’re still going to be on top, don’t worry,” Nat says, struggling not to laugh.

She opens the bedroom door without turning around and Maria’s relieved to see she hasn’t left clothes on the floor. The bed isn’t made but she’ll take it. Her office is worse, anyway and Nat keeps coming back so it’s not like she’s bothered by a little mess.

Maria’s brain still hasn’t caught up so she slips into the safety of her Commander persona. She stands in the doorway, hands behind her back while Nat sits on the edge of the bed. The mattress sags but a cloud of dust isn’t released. Small victories. That’s quickly becoming the theme of tonight.

Nat kicks off her heels. She sighs and rubs the arch of her foot. Maria marvels at how Nat can adapt to any environment. She looks like she belongs here, as if this is their nightly routine.

She switches to her other foot and looks up at Maria.

“As much as I love that bossy look, I asked you do to do something. Remember?”

It’s a challenge but one Maria can back out of if she needs to. Nat teases but never pushes. This is entirely Maria’s choice.

And Maria Hill has never been one to back down from a challenge.

She starts with her shoes, kicking them off as she pulls the dress over her head. Unlike Nat, she’s not one for a show. Still, Nat watches her like she’s putting one on. She grins and leans back on the bed.

“Black looks good on you,” she says. “But I like the bra better than the dress.”

Maria tosses the dress to the floor - let the SHIELD PR team deal with the winkles. It’s the least they can do after forcing her into the thing. She unloads her Glock next and sets it on the dresser. She then raises an eyebrow at Nat.

“I’m not going along with whatever you’re plotting until your gun and other weapons are on the nightstand.”

Nat sticks out her tongue but complies. Her own Glock, a backup Walther PPK/S and half a dozen taser disks are piled onto the nightstand. Maria is definitely jealous of that dress.

Once unarmed and slightly less dangerous, Nat lies down and pats the bed next to her. Maria rolls her eyes but joins her. The bed springs screech in protest. A particularly angry one jabs her in the thigh. Maria winces. 

“And I’m reminded why I sleep on the couch when I stay here,” she says. “This mattress hates me.”

Nat inspects the damage. No broken skin, just hurts like a bitch. Maria waves her off.

“It’s a spring, not a bullet wound. No need to fuss.”

“And there’s no need to act tough when someone’s only worried about you.” Nat bats her hand in retaliation. “You don’t have to prove you’re a badass to me. I already know.”

Maria looks up at the ceiling, anywhere but Nat’s face. “It’s control again.” Explaining is easier than apologizing and that in itself is the root of the problem. Pride. Maria’s guilty of many things but that will always be her most damning sin.

Nat shrugs. “I get it. I do it too but we can talk these things through, right?”

Talking things through implies a relationship which is the opposite of what this was supposed to be. But that was a year ago. They’ve changed, are changing still. Maria brought her home. She’s peeling back her armor and trusting Nat not to take advantage of her. She’s learned things about Maria that others would’ve used to destroy her career - her unease in exposed areas, the agents she’s lost and why. She’s even learned about Ed in the vague way as the demon she can’t put to rest. Maria can’t lie and say she doesn’t see herself trusting Nat more in the future.

“I’ll try.” No, she’s been trying. Ever since Nat took the bullet in Austria and maybe before. Maria’s learning to let go of the fire and brimstone she surrounds herself with and finally let someone in. And the craziest thing is she actually likes this version of herself. It’s as strong as the West Point graduate, the rising SHIELD cadet, the stalwart commander. 

Maybe she’s always been this person. Maybe Maria is the strength, not the titles that come before her name. Not lieutenant, agent, or even commander.

Maybe Nat believes that too.

“It’s a process,” Nat agrees. “A terribly long process.”

Maria swings a leg over Nat’s hips and straddles her. Talking is good. Healthy, even, according to her therapist but Maria has her limits. Half naked in the dusky light, she sees what Nat must.

A woman so in love but too fucking stubborn to admit it.

Fuck it.

She reaches behind her back and unhooks her bra. The handful of times they’ve fucked, Maria’s stayed dressed. Nat would feel her up, even pulled off her shirt once during a vigorous session in the showers but she’s never seen Maria naked. Never touched her. Until now.

Wonder is not a word she’d ever think to describe the Black Widow’s face. Cocky or curious, yes. But wonder? Like seeing your first pair of tits kind of wonder? Never. 

But here they are.

Higher brain function seems to momentarily cease for Nat. Her eyes flicker from her chest, to her face then back again. Her tongue darts out, wets her lips as if without conscious thought.

“I did not expect that.”

Maria snorts. “Really? That’s all it takes to break the Black Widow? If I’d known that, I would’ve flashed you years ago.”

She brings Nat’s useless hands to her chest. Truth be told, she’s just as lost as Nat is but one of them has to keep it together. She’s stupidly close to breaking down in a fit of giggles and that is _not_ happening.

Nat palms her breast, thumb flicking near her nipple. She bites her lip and strangles a groan.

“I’m only saying this once. I don’t do this. Ever. I might fuck up and - _shit_!”

With a smirk, Nat rolls Maria’s nipple between her fingers and pulls her into a sweet kiss. Closed-mouthed and chaste until she pinches. Maria hisses, a curse on her tongue that Nat swallows. This is the Nat she knows. Wanton and powerful, the one she fights with as an agent and a lover. The one she could throw off a bridge for being so damn reckless.

Reckless, violent but _so damn caring_.

Nat rolls her onto her side. Maria doesn’t resist. She’s too caught up in the torture of Nat’s mouth on her neck, sucking and biting as she moves down further still; pinching and pulling all the while. Her nipple is thoroughly abused when she reaches her sternum. Puckered and flushed like the rest of her body. 

Maria grabs Nat by the shoulder, shakes her. “Enough fucking teasing.”

She hikes up Nat’s skirt and moves the crotch of her underwear to the side. She’s soaked. Damn woman loves teasing as much as being teased. 

Nat grabs her wrist, pulls her away and pins her to mattress. Her elbow presses against Maria’s stomach as she climbs on top of her.

“I’ll tease you as much as I want.”

She nips the underside of her breast. Maria scratches down her back, tries to force her off but to no avail. Nat adapts, moves her weight forward and keeps her pinned. This is a fight Maria’s doomed to lose. Or win. Depends on the perspective, really.

“Good thing weapons are on the table, yeah?” Nat grins, hand moving to her other breast. She cups it, kisses the areola without touching the nipple.

“I wouldn’t mind my gun, actually.” She doesn’t beg for a kiss or whine for her tongue to explore her like she wants. Instead, she falls back on snark. If she can’t overpower Nat, she’ll give her hell for it.

Nat rolls her hips against hers. “Shut up and enjoy yourself, Hill.”

“I might if you took off that stupid dress. Even the playing field a little.”

She reaches for the hemline again, twirls the silky fabric around her finger. Nat raises her hips and lets her lift it over her ass.

“The playing field is never even when you’re concerned.”

This time, Maria doesn’t look away. Nat speaks in code and Maria has always deflected, played ignorant and she could continue to do so. It’d be easier. But easy isn’t worth the loneliness. Not anymore.

She digs her fingers into Nat’s thigh. “Please, I trust you.”

The bravado fades. Nat touches her cheek and kisses the other. She whispers something that might be Russian but Maria can’t tell. It’s tender. A promise.

“_Я тебя любл_.”

“Told you,” Maria mumbles. “English or Spanish, otherwise I’ll assume you’re saying something rude.”

Nat lies next to her, hand still on her cheek. “Nothing rude,” she says. “I’ll tell you what it means later.”

“If it means we can hurry things up, sure.”

Nat hooks a finger under the elastic of her underwear. “Impatient.”

“Try sexually frustrated.”

An evil grin. “We can’t have that now, can we?”

Nat tugs at Maria’s underwear, waits for her to nod in consent before exploring further. Maria bites her lip until she tastes the coppery tang of blood. She’s wound too tight and ready to snap. Every light stroke is torture, the edge of high she’s only found alone.

Nat kisses her as she circles her clit. Maria whimpers, jerks her hips and grinds against Nat for release. This isn’t sex. It’s an epiphany, the realization that Nat is it. No one else will share Maria’s bed. 

Maria grits her teeth. “I’m not going to beg.”

_But I already am, aren’t I?_

Nat responds by slipping a finger inside her. Barely. The angle’s wrong. Maria needs more so she pushes her underwear down to the holster and begins fucking herself on Nat’s fingers. No prelude. It hurts but the pain is of a good sort, like the ache after a sparring match. Their scraps are like sex, anyway. Intense and pushing violent. Once, Nat straddled her and fucked her with a knee between her legs. Maria nearly came but it wasn’t enough. She was left wanting and finished herself in the shower after Nat left. Cold and alone.

But this is heat and flesh. It’s Nat’s fingers inside of her, not her own. She’s at the mercy of another woman for the first time in her life and she's unraveling, losing all sense of control.

She bites Nat's lip, desperate to fight back the mounting tension. This time, it's Nat who whimpers. It's closer to begging and faint compared to Maria's angry noise. The sound summons incoherent memories of their previous couplings. Maria face between her legs, biting her thigh and knowing it wouldn't bruise; fucking her hard with her mouth. Nat's cries of _harder, Hill_ back before she called her Maria and the first time she did. _Mari - uh _it'd been, broken by a sigh.

Maria comes with a low moan, thighs clamped tight around Nat’s hand. She doesn’t strangle the noise like she wants and Nat snuggles against her appreciatively for it. 

“_Хорошая девочка_,” she whispers. “_Просто дыши_.”

Nat guides her through the quaking aftershocks with shallow thrusts, kissing her when she finally withdraws. Maria hisses. She’s swollen, hypersensitive and misses the contact immediately.

“Fuck, Nat. That was - ”

“Good,” Nat finishes. “Really good.”

Nat’s hair is damp with sweat. A lock falls across Maria’s face and she realizes she never turned on the AC. She begins to drift off, the stale air heavy like a blanket.

Nat shifts away from her. She wants to tell her to stay, at least for her to return the favor but she can’t move. Her body is spent.

Nat says something before she leaves. It’s Russian but Maria understands.

“_Я тебя любл_.”

_I love you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I extend my apologies to my grandma. You tried so hard but I only learned Russian so I could sprinkle it into gay fanfiction.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Five months to update a fic that's already been done and finished for more than a year? It's more likely than you'd think.
> 
> Really, though. Thank you all, especially those of you that commented when this fic seemed abandoned. Don't let anyone say you're not a superhero, because you are. My heroes.

_ Was that your first kiss since nineteen forty-five? _

Natasha means it as a joke and Steve takes it in kind. He’s ninety-five, not dead. She likes that about him, his deadpan snark. Whatever happens to SHIELD, he’s one of the good ones and will do what’s right. 

He’ll also never take her teasing lying down.

“Do I have to worry about Hill kicking my ass for that kiss?” He asks. “Or does this fall under the line of duty?”

He turns on the indicator and merges to the left. It’s four hours until they reach New Jersey. If he wants to do this, they have the time. 

Natasha sighs and puts her feet back on the dashboard. Steve frowns but she’ll have this if he’s going to pry into her complicated love life.

“You’re safe,” she tells him. “Maria likes you. You remind her of the service, I think. Makes her nostalgic.”

Steve nods. The feeling’s mutual. Natasha sees it in their greetings. Polite nods followed by “Commander” and the responding “Captain”. Maria never addresses anyone under her command. She points and shouts orders but with Steve, she takes the time to greet a fellow soldier.

Natasha feels the same. She’s not a soldier, never wants to be one, but she and Steve are in a similar league. There’s a camaraderie Natasha feels with him and not the other agents.

“She can like me and still throw me off a bridge,” Steve says. “Those two are never mutually exclusive.”

Natasha laughs, imagining the scenario. He’s right. “There’s a story there and I want to hear it over drinks when we’re done saving the world.”

Steve shrugs. “Sure. Maybe Hill can join us.”

The New Jersey Turnpike appears in the distance. Natasha stares at it instead of Steve. She doesn’t need those All-American baby blues judging her. 

“I wouldn’t know if she likes beer. It’s not that type of a relationship.”

It’s a lie. Maria’s partial to local craft beer like she is good coffee but that’s not for Natasha to divulge. It’s not like they go on dates to microbreweries. No, Natasha only knows Maria visits them because she got shitfaced at one and the owner called Natasha to pick her up. She’d lost an agent. A cadet, really. Less than a week out of the academy. 

“He was just a kid,” Maria said over and over as Natasha laid her down in the backseat of the van she’d commandeered. “Why are we leading kids to their deaths, Nat? Why?”

Natasha didn’t have an answer. She’d been made into a weapon as a child, how could she comfort Maria?

Steve glances at her. He’s better than she is at reading people, and can see right through her forced smile.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really, but since it’s just you, me, and a hundred miles of controlled-access highway, why not.”

“Most of interstate ninety-five is toll-free, actually.”

Natasha slumps farther into her seat. “Well, that makes all the difference, doesn’t it?”

Steve turns onto the interstate. They join the endless rush of cars, just one cell in the larger organism that is the American expressway. For as much as Natasha travels, she rarely drives. Why would she with helicarriers and Quinjets? It’s only when she’s cut off from SHIELD resources does she make do with a stolen Chevrolet.

“She’s stubborn,” Natasha finally says. It’s more than that. Natasha’s own stubbornness is an issue but it’s Maria’s insistence on a casual relationship that’s the current flash point. 

Steve chuckles. “I could’ve told you that.”

Natasha punches his arm. It’s like hitting a wall but Natasha is a punchy-sort of friend so she doesn’t mind. “Smartass. I expect that from Clint, not you.”

“Clearly, we haven’t spent enough time together if you think I’m not as bad as Barton.” He grins at her in the rearview mirror. “I’m worse.”

She had her suspicions. His quips about finding him a date were more than casual banter. Captain America is a little shit and it’s the greatest thing.

Natasha meets his gaze and they both check the mirror for tails. Nothing. Even if Maria and her are on the outs, she’ll run interference the best she can. They should at least make it to Camp Lehigh before Pierce’s men have the slightest idea where they might be.

“We’re clear,” Steve says and focuses on the road ahead. “Back to Hill. What is she being stubborn about?”

“A relationship. We’ve been together casually since New York and it’s worked for a while.”

“But you want more.”

She’s not surprised Steve figures it out. The tabloids call Tony and Bruce the smartest Avengers but in all matters except science, it’s a tie between them. They understand people, sometimes more than they want to. It’s a side effect of fighting back the absolute evil of society. 

“Love is for children,” Natasha says. Her old fallback.

Steve shakes his head. “I don’t believe that for a moment and neither do you.”

“And why’s that? Did mind reading come with your super soldier shot? Because mine sure didn’t.”

That’s another thing that links them together, their enhanced physiologies. The biotechnology in Natasha isn’t as sensationalized as Steve’s but he understands what it’s like to be a lab experiment. It’s an ever-present feeling, the isolation from others. Even when she’s not thinking about it, it’s there. Just another reason she can never leave this life behind. Agent or assassin, the Black Widow will remain her title.

“No, it didn’t.” He looks at her in the mirror again, frowning faintly. “And if you ever need to talk about that, I’m here, but the whole ‘love is for children’ thing? I don’t need to read minds to know that’s not you. You’ve got a heart, Romanoff. The biggest one on this team.”

She bounces her heel against the dashboard. It’d be easy to lie her way out of this, to save face and continue keeping Steve at a distance. But Fury trusted him and so did Maria. It’s time she extended the same courtesy.

“Thank you,” she says. “I’m trying to move past my training but old habits die hard."

Steve nods. He’s such a human Labrador puppy, Natasha forgets he’s seen some awful things too. She’s read about Project Paperclip and HYDRA’s experiments with the tesseract but fighting those horrors on the Western Front? He still must have nightmares.

“How we got together was complicated,” Natasha says. “I found a pretty face I liked and Hill flirted back. For a year, that’s all it was. Then I took a bullet for her in Austria and well, we’re lonely people and sex is nice. But it never stays ‘just sex’ when the other person’s safety matters more than your own.”

“It was rushed,” she concedes. “And we only see each other a handful of times a year when our schedules line up. There’s nothing there for Hill. I’m just desperate for something more than a mission.” Home and hearth. Everything she uses the Red Room as an excuse to hide from.

Steve shakes his head and smiles. “You’re thinking like the Black Widow. Hill’s a soldier and soldiers are bleeding hearts.”

“Maria has her moments but romantic is a stretch.”

“Are you always this skeptical of good things?” He asks. “Everyone has their own way of showing affection and I’d bet you know Hill’s. You’re trying to sabotage this before you have a chance at happiness. Don’t.”

Natasha rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue. There’s no use when Captain America knows he’s right.

“You need a better sales pitch,” Steve decides. “Tell her you want to date her. No need to complicate things.”

“How? Maybe you didn’t notice but we’re on the run from the organization she’s in charge of. I can’t exactly ask her out to dinner.”

Suddenly, a blue sedan speeds next to them and Steve nearly swerves into oncoming traffic. Natasha reaches for her gun but the sedan continues past, veering ahead of someone else. Just a reckless driver mad at them for going the speed limit, not STRIKE.

Natasha does catch a glimpse of the driver in profile, just in case. Dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. She’s too young to be Maria but it’s enough of a resemblance to make her heart clench.

Steve exhales and relaxes his grip on the steering wheel. Another thing he learned in Nazi Germany -- how not to crash a car.

He leans forward and turns on the radio. A twangy guitar opening plays. Being run off the road might be preferable to country music. She switches the channel to a pop station.

“We’re in for a long drive,” Steve says. Whether he’s talking about modern music or their anxiety of being caught is unclear.

Natasha watches the blue sedan turn off at the next exit, brake lights winking in the distance. “Now do you see why I keep trying to find you a date? You’ll go crazy if you don’t focus on something less fucked up than dying.”

“Alright,” he says. “Maria Hill. Next time you see her, kiss her and tell her you love her. Trust me, it works.”

She shouldn’t have given him the idea. Clint and Laura are bad enough. The three of them can never be in the same room together.

She switches the channel back to country but Johnny Cash does nothing to placate Steve. She’s going to throw herself out of the truck, take her chances with hitting concrete at seventy-five miles per hour. Maybe that will put her out of her misery.

“The next time I see her will probably be a firefight,” Natasha says. “That’s hardly the place for sweeping romantic gestures.”

“Back in my day it was.” 

“Back in my day, really?” He seriously went there. Natasha needs to record this and send it to Tony as blackmail. No way should she be the only witness to peak Old Man Steve.

“You did call me a fossil,” Steve reminds her. “It might be old fashion but if seeing someone alive is enough to make your heart swell, that’s love. Peggy first kissed me before the  _ Valkyrie _ and similarly planted one on her wife after a fight broke out in a diner.”

“I guess mortal danger is a great motivator.” Natasha shakes her head. “Peggy Carter’s a madwoman. I worked with her a few times when I joined SHIELD. She was pushing ninety and the Alzheimer’s had just been diagnosed but she still ran me ragged.” Quietly, she adds, “I should visit her again.”

Steve’s smile is sad but not mournful. Wistful, that’s the word. Struggling to forge a new life while missing the one he left behind. Natasha understands. She’s still trying to do that eight years later.

She touches his arm, pretends not to notice the subtle tremors because Captain America doesn’t cry. He tears up, even shakes a little but he doesn’t cry. People like them just can’t.

“We could go together,” he says. “I’ve spoken to Angie, her wife over the phone but to be honest, I’m scared. Scared I’d somehow make things worse. I researched the disease and it’s...a lot.”

“We should,” Natasha says, giving his arm a squeeze before letting go. “I’ve only seen Angela Martin in old movies, never in person. I’d love to meet the Hollywood starlet that bagged herself the director of SHIELD.”

Steve collects himself and it’s like nothing happened. He sits up straight, squares his shoulders and he’s America’s golden boy once again. If his eyes are a little more blue than usual, no one would notice.

Heavy is the title of hero, Natasha thinks. It certainly weighs down on her.

“She wasn’t a movie star when they met,” Steve says. “She’d been a waitress, actually, for an automat in New York. Served Peggy coffee until she made the switch permanently.”

“I know another spy she’d get along with.” Natasha laughs but it’s hollow. She misses their coffee dates. Maria doesn’t know it but she bought French Vanilla mix after she snuck out of her apartment the first night. It’d been such a gesture of trust, bringing her home and Natasha hadn’t wanted to overstay her welcome. So, she wandered the streets of Maria’s neighborhood until she ended up in a convenience store that reeked of cigarettes and an out-of-order toilet. The boy behind the counter - who undoubtedly filched the Marlboro he was smoking - rang up the coffee and threw in a slushie on the house because she “looked like she needed it”.

That was almost a year ago. The coffee’s still in a cupboard above her bunk, hidden behind the mugs Laura gave her for Christmas. Just in case.

Another car speeds past. This time, Natasha doesn’t flinch. She watches it go by. Steve switches the radio back to pop and they drive on in silence.

* * *

Arnim Zola’s consciousness is preserved in a computer and as if that’s not nightmarish enough, it has a doomsday protocol to boot.

“Project Insight requires insight so I wrote an algorithm,” Zola says.

It may be a computer but Natasha can still interrogate it. She leans forward, keeps the camera focused on her while Steve looks around.

“What kind of algorithm? What does it do?”

The camera whirls but she stares at the screen. “It analyzes private data to determine the individual’s threat to HYDRA,” Zola says. “For example, you,  _ fräulein _ , have been very busy.”

The screen changes. Bank records, medical histories, emails - all Natasha’s. Her entire life in a data stream, stopping on her last text conversation.

ROMANOFF, NATASHA

_ We’re safe. Please tell me you are too. _

HILL, MARIA

_ Yes. Break your phone and don’t contact me again. I’ll find you when it’s safe. _

ROMANOFF, NATASHA

_Stay alive. I love you_. [MESSAGE NOT SENT. THIS NUMBER COULD NOT BE FOUND.]

“Originally, the algorithm had not considered you a threat,” Zola continues. “Your loyalty to Director Fury was conditional at best. When HYDRA rose, you would either follow Agent Barton or go your own way. Ever the outcast,  _ fräulein _ .”

Steve looks at her over the monitor. There’s nothing here but miles of tape. The door behind them begins to shut. Steve throws his shield, tries to jam it. She doesn’t turn around to see if he does. She stares at Maria’s name, paralyzed. She understands now. The bullet in Austria was never meant for her.

“You’ve since joined the ranks of the Captain, however. And you shall be too dead to save your Commander Hill this time, I’m afraid.”

Her phone buzzes. Bogeys. From SHIELD. HYDRA is going to blow them to hell.

Thirty seconds.

Steve lifts up a grate and Natasha follows him down. It won’t matter. Steve might survive. Maybe. But she doubts she will and almost tells him to protect himself for once, not her. Increase his chances so someone can make it back to Maria. But he’s already pulling her close, preparing for the blast.

At least she had a friend at the end.

* * *

They survive. And that’s the beginning of the end.

* * *

SHIELD falls but Natasha’s world doesn’t. Fury is alive. In hindsight, she should never have doubted it but he’s  _ the _ spy for a reason. If he couldn’t fool her then it wouldn’t have been believable. His secrets have secrets, as Tony would say. Because of that, she’s touched to be included in his circle. His trust means something. He’s family, even if he’d never admit it in so many words.

Fury is off to hunt the remaining cells of HYDRA. Natasha could join him. The Winter Soldier killed Sitwell before she could interrogate him about Austria and while she won’t lose sleep over his death, she doesn’t like loose ends. She might find answers with Fury. A world leader hiding in an abandoned fallout shelter or an arms dealer like Solohob who called the hit. She could see to their silence, ensure that they’d never threaten Maria or her again.

Natasha could also join the search for Bucky Barnes, or whatever’s left of him, anyway. She believes Steve saw a flicker of his friend and could even draw those time lost fragments to the surface. But putting them back together, after all HYDRA must have done? That might be too tall a task for even Captain America. Still, if anyone could do it, it would be the guy who exposed a decades long conspiracy after an equally long time in the freezer.

Really. He’s been in the twenty-first century for just two years and he’s already dismantled the longest standing intelligence agency in the world. She can’t imagine what the future will bring.

She’ll decide later. Right now, she’s doing one of Maria’s many crosswords. She never finishes them, as far as Natasha can tell. There were six on the coffee table and another on the couch, all incomplete. It’s not like Maria to leave things half-assed. She can only assume she’s not here more than a night at a time and the crosswords are forgotten with the next mission.

Natasha asks Maria about it when she texts that she broke into her apartment. She adds a post note telling her not to be mad because she brought coffee. The French Vanilla mix she bought a year ago. It expires in a month or that’s the excuse she’s going with. 

She sends Maria a picture of two steaming mugs and last week’s crossword.

_ Christmas-themed rom-com. Twelve letters - R _

Maria doesn’t answer. The phone blinks off, silent. She could text Clint. He’s strangely well-versed in rom-coms but then he’d want to talk about the uprising. This is it for him. He won’t risk his family for SHIELD and Natasha can’t face continuing this path without him.

Her world isn’t falling apart. It’s not.

Natasha lays down on the ratty couch that could’ve only come from a garage sale. The leather is scratched up and the wooden legs have been gnawed on by either teething children or dogs - neither of which Maria has. But it smells of coffee and stale beer which Maria definitely does have. She wonders if Maria likes the couch or if it’s a means to an end. Possessions suggests permanence which Maria never had growing up and has yet to accept she deserves.

Maria deserves a couch she likes.

Natasha props the newspaper on her thighs and traces over Maria’s answer for down three. Four letters. ‘Not a mountain but a ____ .’ The H and L’s have little flourishes and the I is dotted as an afterthought, sort of heart shaped if Natasha squints. Maria would shoot her for thinking her handwriting is cute but it is.

Most of the clues are easy to guess. A seven letter word for sadness is anguish, the river painted by Van Gogh is the Rhône. So on and so forth. It’s not until thirteen across does she stop.

Maria has doodled something underneath the clue for ‘space race’. It’s Cyrillic. Or rather, some vague approximation of it. Natasha guesses she copied it from Google translate and can see the hesitation in the letters. It reminds her of first learning to write and how she would trace letter after letter until Madame nodded her stiff satisfaction.

Я тебя любл.

I love you.

Maria has an insane memory. Natasha’s only said that once. A year ago while she thought Maria was asleep. She still remembers her faint noise of satisfaction as she drifted off. Something like a sigh but lighter, truly blissful. Natasha had never seen her so at peace and the phrase slipped without conscious thought.

That’s why she left. The ease at which those words came to her was so startling she ran.

She always ran.

_ Ever the outcast _ , fräulein.

The door opens. Natasha is startled that she didn’t hear footsteps. She grabs her gun and trains it on the door.

Maria steps in, hands raised like she knew Natasha would be on edge. “It’s just me, Nat. It’s just me.”

Her jacket is missing; her undershirt untucked and stained with grime from the Triskelion’s wreckage. There’s a cut under her lip and an ugly, purple bruise on her left shoulder. She smiles, a little crooked from the swelling.

Maria is alive. Disheveled, exhausted but alive.

“Thank fuck.”

Natasha scrambles off the couch without any of the grace she’s famous for. Relief is a clumsy thing, shaking and uncertain. She trips. Maria catches her but the momentum sends them to the floor in a heap. Natasha’s nose hits her collarbone, her chin jabbing the awful bruise on her shoulder. It hurts, Natasha knows it must, but Maria is laughing. She feels it, the trembling joy and giggles too. They’re alive.

Maria slides her fingers through Natasha’s hair, tilts her head up to look at her. “Nice to see you too.”

“I’m glad you’re not dead,” Natasha says.

“You saw me alive earlier.”

“Saw but didn’t feel.” Natasha kisses her shoulder, tastes the salt of her sweat on her lips. “Steve was right. I should’ve kissed you when I saw you.”

“Speaking of the bastard, he’s doing okay. You super soldiers are damn near impossible to kill.”

“I’m many things, a soldier is not one of them.” But ‘super’ is a descriptor she’s warming up to. Slowly.

There’s so much to say. What will they do and who will they be now that SHIELD is gone? Are they still themselves without their ranks? Natasha is still the Black Widow, always will be, but is that all she is? 

Was it the Commander that wrote  _ I love you _ in the first language Natasha ever knew? Or was it Maria? Is there even a difference?

“You are many things,” Maria agrees. She traces the curve of Natasha’s ear down to her jaw. Natasha catches her wrist and kisses it before letting go.

“Help me stand, would you? I need a shower, a beer and a nap in that order.”

Natasha helps Maria to her feet and realizes she’s favoring her right leg. The fabric of her pants is bunched at the thigh. Gauze. Probably a laceration by the way Maria holds her weight. She wouldn’t be walking if it was a bullet wound.

Maria winces and leans against her. “Add a bandage change in there, too.”

“Knife?” Natasha guesses as they move to the bathroom. Maria grabs one of the mugs from the counter and shakes her head. 

“Debris. I was searching the wreckage for survivors and fell. Looks worse than it feels.”

Maria gulps the coffee. Her hand shakes. No survivors then. There hadn’t been much hope to begin with but Maria needs to bring every good agent home, even if it’s in a casket.

Natasha thinks of the dead cadet, of Maria grieving for his short life in a drunken stupor. That won’t happen again. Natasha will help bear this burden. This wound will heal right and with time, they can move on to build something better than SHIELD. Something honest.

No more secrets, she thinks. That’s a good place to start.

The bathroom is a cramped en suit and like the rest of the apartment, only has the essentials. Shower, sink and toilet. Natasha bemoans the lack of a tub. She’s hardly indulgent herself but even Natasha likes the occasional bubble bath.

Maria sits on the edge of the toilet and works her pants over the gauze. Most of her thigh is bandaged but no blood has seeped through. Natasha pulls back the edge, sees glass and gravel embedded in shallow cuts. Maria at least has the decency to look sheepish.

“I was going to clean and redress it when I got home.”

The rest of the gauze comes off without a fuss. Natasha tosses it in the wastebasket and glares at Maria. 

“You’re a trained combat medic, you know the risk of infection. Where’s the first aid kit?”

Maria gestures to the medicine cabinet. “Careful, though. The door kind of sticks.”

Made of wood and brass, the cabinet has warped with age. Natasha braces her foot against the sink for leverage as she tugs and eventually, the door pops free. She staggers but keeps her balance - ballet has many uses. She grabs the plastic med kit and slams the door shut for good measure.

“Shower. I’ll wait for you in the bedroom.”

“Nah, stay,” Maria says. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before and I could really use the company.”

Natasha smiles, surprised by Maria’s vulnerability. Apparently, she’s not the only one who’s had a revelation about their relationship.

“If you’re sure.”

Maria finishes off the coffee and sets the mug in the sink. “Wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t. And thanks, by the way. For the coffee.”

“I’m just sorry it’s not beer. You could probably use one.”

“You’d think after a day like today, I would but I should stay sober. For now.”

Maria doesn’t elaborate as she kicks off her pants. Natasha turns on the shower. She’ll explain when she’s ready.

There are more cuts over Maria’s body. Smaller ones on her calf and a deeper laceration on her hip that would benefit from stitches. The med kit is a standard SHIELD issue. If Maria keeps it stocked, she can patch her up, no problem.

Natasha sits on the floor to assess what she has to work with when Maria tosses her bra at her head. Maria sticks out her tongue, a childish gesture Natasha is fond of, not her.

“Like you said, I’m a trained combat medic. I wouldn’t dare risk that thing being empty.”

She opens the kit and finds that it is, in fact, full. There’s antiseptics, bandages, burn cream, medical tape and even a few things SHIELD doesn’t pack like chest seals and decompression needles. Agents are taught basic first aid but this is closer to an EMS pack.

Maria steps into the shower, sighs as the water hits her face. She scrubs a hand through her hair and looks at Natasha.

“What?"

Natasha’s read Maria’s file but this kit is part of the story that doesn’t exist on paper.

“Tell me about it,” she says. “Your time as a medic.”

Maria grabs a bottle of shampoo. “Not much to say. West Point was just a dream so I went to Fort Sam Huston for AIT. Jumped tracks after the Whisky Phase when I got into the Soldier Admissions Program.” She pauses, opens the bottle and squirts shampoo into the palm of her hand. “It sticks with you, though. Over a decade later and my first impulse is still triage.”

Triage is what Maria does. She minimizes disasters and directs resources where they’re needed most - and that’s just within her duties as deputy director. Personality-wise, Maria is a big picture person, the opposite of Natasha who can only focus on the mission at hand. That’s the difference between them, the soldier and the assassin.

“That’s why the cadet’s death hit you so hard,” Natasha says. There’d been a report. Three dead after an attempted breakout at one of SHIELD’s secured facilities. Maria had been on scene. Because of her, the uprising was contained but not before a powered inmate killed the cadet standing guard. What’s not on record is how Maria blames herself for not firing her weapon sooner.

“Could’ve saved him,” she told Natasha, reeking of booze and guilt. “If I’d only been quicker.”

Maria nods, closes her eyes as if she can block the memory like the soap running down her face. “It’s also why the Austria mission was so damn hard. It didn’t matter that you had accelerated healing - I knew you’d been hit fatally. I had to watch you bleed out, knowing there wasn’t a fucking thing I could do.”

Steam has filled the room, fogging over the plastic curtain that separates them. Natasha closes the med kit. 

“Maria.”

When Maria doesn’t answer, Natasha stands and pulls back the curtain. She finds Maria hunched under the warm spray, arms crossed over her chest. Her skin pebbles at the rush of cool air. She shivers.

This happens sometimes. Maria manages her anxiety well but everyone has their bad days. SHIELD doesn’t (or rather, didn’t now that it’s fallen) allow for mental health days.

Natasha touches her shoulder, careful not to startle her. The shower soaks her sleeve but Natasha doesn’t care. Maria reaches for her hand, slides their fingers together and squeezes.

“I’m here, I’m safe. We both are.”

“I know,” Maria says. “I know.”

Maria takes a shaky breath and uncrosses her arms. She nods.

“I’m okay.”

Natasha leans into the spray and kisses her cheek. She doesn’t mind getting wet, even if it means her hair will dry funny later. It’s time Maria saw the less than perfect side of her.

“I know you are.”

Showers are the place for people like Maria to cry. If someone catches her, the humidity is a convenient excuse for flushed skin and red-rimmed eyes. Natasha only knows the truth by the salt on her lips.

Natasha’s hair sticks to her face. She wrinkles her nose, reaches to brush it away but Maria tucks it behind her ear. Maria smiles. It really doesn’t look like she’s been crying.

“Dumbass,” she says with a fond pat on her cheek. “You’re getting wet.”

“But you always make me wet.” The joke is too good to ignore. She winks and Maria shoves her.

The water shuts off and Maria steps out. Her eyes flick around the room. She’s on edge but coming down. Natasha hands her the towel hanging on the wall. It’s terrycloth, rough and scratchy but Maria isn’t bothered by it. Or maybe she’s too high strung to feel it.

The first thing Natasha will do in a post-SHIELD world is buy Maria new towels. Fluffy ones in bright colors which Maria will say she hates but secretly adores. If she meant the words written on the crossword then maybe they could have a home like that. Full of everything bright and colorful they never had. Their own homestead.

One day. Maybe, hopefully.

“Earth’s mightiest hero,” Maria says. She scrubs her face with the towel and moves to the bedroom. Natasha follows.

“And what of it? I saved the world. Twice.”

“God watches over fools or whatever they say.”

Once in the bedroom, Natasha sets out bandages and tweezers. Maria rummages through the dresser. She finds underwear and a t-shirt, both grey. She dresses then sits on the bed.

She’s demure which is strange for Maria. She looks away as Natasha picks glass from her leg. It could be the aftermath of the panic attack. She doesn’t know Maria’s patterns but Natasha sleeps after her worst ones, exhausted by the memory of Madame. Embarrassment is also common but everyone is different.

Natasha drops a glass shard into the growing pile. Maria’s leg bounces.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Natasha says. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I’ll be fine soon. And it’s not just that.”

Another piece of glass. “The world will be okay without SHIELD. And if it’s not, we’ll just save it again.”

“I can’t go there yet. Not until Cap is out of the hospital.” Maria shakes her head. “It’s something else.”

“Fury?” Natasha guesses. She can’t think of anything else.

Maria grabs the tweezers. Fresh blood oozes from the cut. Pressure needs to be applied but she holds Natasha’s hand.

“No, Nat. Keys. You need your own key to the apartment.”

“Oh.”

The apartment, not Maria’s. Everything Natasha’s owns is floating in the Potomac River. She’s homeless. Maria isn’t saying she can live here with her, is she?

“Are you saying . . . ?” She trails off. Her training abandons her and for the first time, she’s too nervous to speak. She can’t mess this up. Just can’t.

Maria stares at the wall, a faint blush creeping up her neck. “It’s not a big deal. You can pick the lock but I thought a key would save an awkward conversation with my landlord.”

A roundabout answer to an equally vague question but Natasha understands. She squeezes Maria’s hand. She still won’t look at her but she doesn’t need to.

“Are you sure?”

Maria nods. “This place is just a shell, Nat. It’s been that way since I made the down payment and I’m tired of it. I want something more.”

There’s so many things Natasha should say. ‘Thank you’ or ‘I want that too’ but nothing comes to mind. Rather, nothing in English. There’s one thought and she can’t keep it to herself any longer.

“Я тебя любл.”

Never in anger or desperation has Natasha let a secret slip. She’s been tortured, bribed and abused and always remained in control. Yet after all her years as a spy, she’s undone by a single sweet gesture.

Natasha closes her eyes. Her stomach turns. Bile rises in her throat, burning like guilt and dread. She spoke out of turn, said something Maria isn’t ready to hear. She’ll pull away and the rest of Natasha’s world will fall apart. Her last bridge up in flames.

But Maria doesn’t pull away. She pulls Natasha closer, her body shaking. She’s laughing and hugging Natasha as tight as she can.

“I forgot about that,” Maria says between gasps. “God, you must’ve been shocked.”

Natasha holds still, too afraid to move. She doesn’t know what’s happening. Maria moves to hold her face between her hands, laughing still.

“I know, you idiot and I feel the same. Don’t look so terrified.”

Maria kisses her. Just a peck because she’s in complete hysterics now. Natasha remains frozen. Partially because Maria loves her but mostly because this is bizarre. Maria doesn’t laugh. Maybe she isn’t Maria but rather a HYDRA agent sent to kill her. Nothing would surprise Natasha at this point.

“Who are you and what did you do to Maria Hill?” But she is Maria. She’d see through any fake.

“I had it all planned out,” Maria says. “I was going to give you a key and tell you how I felt but you had to break into my house and ruin that.” The laughter stops. She looks at Natasha for a moment, serious until her mouth twitches into a smile. “You’re such a nosy little shit.”

“But I brought you coffee.” That's all Natasha can think to say. She realizes Maria’s still bleeding and applies pressure while she waits for her senses to return. Natasha is smart. Witty. She can out-sass Tony and any man like him. But Maria? Who’s letting her defenses down for Natasha? That breaks her.

Maria kisses her forehead. She’s coming down from whatever insane high Natasha’s admission of love gave her.

“You did and it was sweet,” she says. “And I’m sorry for laughing. I haven’t slept since you went on the run. I’m way past delirious at this point.”

Natasha lays gauze on the cuts. She can’t blame Maria for not sleeping. With the exception of losing consciousness, Natasha stayed awake the entire time too. She was either saving the world or questioning every choice she made while in SHIELD. It’d been impossible to relax.

Adrenaline kept Natasha going and she’s heading for a crash soon but Maria is well beyond that. She’s half dead, dozing between lulls in the conversation. She needs sleep.

Natasha finishes dressing the wound and stands up. “Lie down. I’ll keep first watch.”

Maria flops onto her side, not bothering with blankets or pillows. She mumbles in protest but she was going to collapse regardless of Natasha’s orders. Already, she’s drifting off. Maria’s ability to fall and stay asleep at the drop of a hat is impressive as her memory.

Natasha crawls in bed next to her. Maria will get a kink in her neck sleeping like that so she moves her head into her lap. She grumbles again, eyes closed.

“Hush.” Natasha brushes still damp hair from her face. Maria curls closes. “No need to be stubborn now.”

“Always a need with you,” Maria mumbles before falling silent.

Once she’s asleep, Natasha takes out her phone. Seven new messages. Two are updates on Steve’s condition.  _ Vitals holding, still not awake, _ writes Sam Wilson.  _ Keep you posted _ . Sharon’s four texts detail the CIA’s plan to flush out domestic HYDRA cells. Those will have to wait until morning when Natasha has the energy to strategize. Right now, she needs to talk to Clint about towels.

Clint’s struggle with technology is rivaled only by Steve’s. He still uses a flip phone which makes his text a grammatical nightmare.

BIRDBRAIN (BARTON, CLINT)

_ tasha call mee  _

Natasha sends him a line of emojis. Purple heart, arrow, smiley face. She throws in a kissy face for Laura, too because she’s usually helping him text.

ROMANOFF, NATASHA

_ Can’t. Maria is asleep. I want to ask you about towels. _

BIRDBRAIN (BARTON, CLINT)

_ towels? _

ROMANOFF, NATASHA

_ Yes. Maria asked me to move in so I’m buying towels. I know nothing about towels. Help me. Also, get a smartphone. _

BIRDBRAIN (BARTON, CLINT)

_ shit im getting laUra _

* * *

The package arrives while Natasha’s in a cemetery. Fury’s being dramatic, Steve and Sam are off to find the Winter Soldier and Maria’s blowing up her phone. Not dissimilar to life pre-fall of SHIELD.

Steve gives her a look when her phone dings a third time in as many minutes.

“Someone’s in trouble.”

Behind them, Sam is pretending not to listen in on their conversation. Natasha looks at him, realizes he’s not going anywhere because the curiosity of who would text bomb the Black Widow is too great. She rolls her eyes.

“I’m not in trouble,” Natasha says. “I found someone more paranoid than me, that’s all.”

It’s just a box of towels. Even Natasha wouldn’t panic like this. She takes out her phone.

HILL, MARIA

_ Romanoff, did you order something? _

_ Natalya Rostova? War and Peace, really? _

_ If HYDRA finds us, I’m letting them take you. _

While taking her turn at Steve’s bedside, Natasha researched West Point’s curriculum. The syllabus is Ivy League level but drilled into cadets twice as fast alongside officer training. She’d been surprised to find a thematic essay on  _ War and Peace _ published in an academic paper. The author, a young Cadet Hill, was lauded for her insight into the classic. There was even a picture of her, smartly dressed in uniform and beaming. The reference was too good to pass up.

Natasha slides her phone back into her pocket. She’ll face the firing squad when she gets home.

_Home_.

She’s still getting used to that.

Steve smiles. He knows.

“So. What’s next for you?”

“I figure myself out.” In the immediate, there’s a bakery Natasha wants to visit. Beyond that, she has no idea. She could help Coulson’s group pick up the pieces of SHIELD. Or she can go to Volgograd and find her mother’s grave. Say goodbye and finally, really start fresh. She’ll decide after she buys an eclair. Maybe a good cup of coffee too, just in case the towels lead to their first domestic squabble.

“Well, good luck.”

SHIELD may be gone but their friendship is stronger than ever. Strong enough to let her old life go up in flames. If Steve needs her, she’ll be there. And when old mistakes finally catch up, he’ll be at her side. They have each other. A new branch on this tree of chosen family. 

Natasha hugs him, gives his cheek a friendly peck. It’s sweeter than their undercover kiss. Genuine.

“I took your advice,” she mumbles against his shoulder. “So you don’t be a stranger, either. Okay?”

"I’ll call,” he says. “And visit if your roommate won’t kill me for it.”

“Buy us that drink first and you’ll be safe.”

Natasha doesn’t wish him good luck when they part. It’d be a hollow sentiment. When he finds the Winter Soldier, he won’t be Bucky. He’ll try to kill Steve again and Steve won’t fight back. Next time, he might stay in the river and another piece of Natasha’s life will be forever lost. 

Still, she’s hopeful. Not long ago, a SHIELD agent hunting the Black Widow made a similar call and she went on to save the world. Stranger things have happened than assassins becoming heroes.

Steve and Sam leave and her phone buzzes again. She half expects it to be another quip about safety in a post-SHIELD world. It’s the opposite.

HILL, MARIA

_ Thank you _ .

Natasha smiles. Coming from Maria, that’s close to a sonnet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder that this only loosely fits into canon. I've taken some liberties because I don't work for Marvel and these characters are fun to play with. Also, I have no clue what I'm doing 70 percent of the time. I'm just here for shits and giggles.

**Author's Note:**

> My grandmother is rolling in her grave at my bastardization of the Cyrillic alphabet.
> 
> Anyway, my tumblr is Haywarde37.


End file.
